^  T/iTT  ^'J9Sl^fG?\^^J^Vt 


THE  UNIVERSITY  OF 

NORTH  CAROLINA 

LIBRARY 


THE  WILMER  COLLECTION 

OF  CIVIL  WAR  NOVELS 

PRESENTED  BY 

RICHARD  H.  WILMER,  JR. 


^!Ui£ROpLJL£CTION 


FRONTISPIECE. 


.^t 


/     J,  THE 

POOR   WHITE; 


OB, 


The  mel)c{  Konscripi 


u\ 


AUTHOR  OF   "RUTH'S  SACRIFICE;    OR,   LIFE   ON  THE 
RAPPAHANNOCK." 


BOSTON: 

GH^ -A. -V  E  S  .A.  3Sr  ID   "S"  O  TJ  IST  O- 
NEW  YORK:  SHELDON  AND  COMPANY. 

CINCINNATI:    GEO.   S.  BLANCHARD. 
1864. 


Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1864,  by 

GRAVES  AND  YOUNG, 

In  the  Clerk's  Oflace  of  the  District  Court  of  Massachusetts. 


Dakin,  Daties,  &  Metcalf, 
Stcrtotnpers    anU    ^Srinters, 

No.   37    CORSHILL. 


CONTENTS 


Chap.  Page. 

I.    Trouble  in  the  Cabin 5 

11.    Where's  Sam? 16 

in.    What  was  Behind  the  Black  Curtain 26 

IV.  Strange  use  of  Mrs.  Dean's  Cowhide  Shoes..  36 

V.    The  Kidnapper  in  his  IIiding-Place 47 

VI.    The  ]\Lin  with  the  Gun.  —  The  Escape 62 

VII.    Caught  by  the  Horns 72 

VIII.    A  Consultation 85 

IX.  An  Encounter.  —  The  Wild  Man  of  the  Swamp  94 

X.  The  Sylvan  Lodge.  —  For  Whom  was  it  Built?..  113 

XL    Sam  Mikes  a  Discovery 127 

Xn.    Trouble  in  the  ]NL\nsion 137 

Xm.    In  Jeff's  Army 156 

XIV.    What  Befell  the  Daisy 170 

XV.    Lottie  Meets  with  Thieves 190 

XVI.    Sorrow  in  the  Lodge 198 

XVII.    Adventures  of  the  Swamp-man • —  205 

XVIII.    Pbissy's  Speculations 218 

XLX.    A  White  Slave 222 

XX.    The  Basket  on  the  Door-step 233 

XXI.    The  Rebel  Horseman 249 

XXII.    Roanoke  Island 263 

XXIII.    The  Boy-Hero 288 

XXTV.    Day-dawn 309 


548838 


THE  POOR  WHITE 

OB, 


c 


I. 

Trouble  in  the  Cabin. 

HE  land  ! "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Betty  Dean, 
the  *Piny  Woods'  woman,  "if  there 
aint  a  sure-enough  kerridge  !  " 

"Who  can  it  be?  "  called  out  little  Tomtit, 
the  wide-awake  of  the  cabin  group. 

"Nobody  comin'  here,  I  reckon,"  slowly 
said  Mr.  Dean,  who  sat  smoking  in  the  chim- 
ney-corner, a  sensible  man,  but  sheepish. 

"But  there  is,  I  tell  you,"  replied  Mrs. 
Dean,  earnestly;  "there's  a  kerridge  with  a 
bad  lookinff  man  in  it.  I  reckon  he's  a  niof- 
ger-buyer,   an'   they  ain't  a  mite  'ticular,  for 

6 


6  THE   POOR   WIIITR. 

if  the  J  don't  make  out  a  load  of  blacks, 
thej-'d  just  as  lief  take  along  some  '  poor 
whites.'  There,  as  true  as  I  live  an'  breathe, 
he's  stopped,  and  he'll  come  in.  Scud  an' 
hide,  chil'en." 

Lottie,  John,  and  Tomtit  crept  under  the 
bed,  while  Elsie,  Bill,  and  Snipe  burst  out  the 
door,  which  was  on  the  side  of  the  cabin  op- 
posite the  road,  or  rather  cart-path,  which 
passed  near  their  dwelling;  a  window,  made 
by  leaving  out  a  log  in  building,  gave  Mrs.  Dean 
a  full  view  of  the  dreaded  stranger. 

Scarcely  were  the  three  children  last-named 
safely  hidden  in  the  juniper  thicket  near  by, 
when  the  intruder  appeared  at  the  door,  whip 
in  hand. 

"  Halloa !  woman.  Can  you  tell  me  the 
way  tow  *  Turner's  Cross  Roads  ?  " 

"Yis,  indeed,"  replied  Mrs.   Dean,   much 
relieved,  but  scarcely  knowing  what  she  said,    ^ot 
"You  jest  step   out  intow  the  road,  an'  I'll  ^cO 

*  Tow,  —  a  provmcialism  of  some  parts  of  the  South,  used 
even  by  persons  of  culture. 


TROUBLE   IN   THE    CABIN. 


tell  yoii  all  about  it."  Then  as  the  man, 
whose  name  was  Workfork,  disappeared 
around  the  house,  she  stepped  to  the  window, 
and  said,  loudly,  "Keep  right  on  follerin'  your 
face  till  you  come  tow  two  roads,  an'  mind 
you  don't  take  both  on  'em." 

"  Jiniminny !  how  could  I  be  fool  enough 
to  do  that?"  exclaimed  he.  "Tell  us  what 
you  mean,  woman?  "  continued  he,  sternly. 

"  Couldn't  you  start  on  one  road,  an'  think 
you  was  wrong,  an'  turn  back  an'  take  the 
t'other?" 

"  Which  of  the  two  shall  I  take?"  asked 
Workfork. 

"The  right  one,  until  you  come  tow  two 
roads  that  runs  kriss-cross  like,  an'  them's 
Turner's  Cross  Roads,"  said  Mrs.  Dean. 

"  Never  shall  find  the  place  from  sech  a  di- 
rection," said  Workfork ;  "can't  you  send  a 
boy  with  me  to  show  me  ?  " 

"Haint  nary  chick  tow  send;  you  can't 
help  finding  it,  though  :  keep  to  the  right  all 
the  way  ;  "  and  she  drew  a  long  breath  of  re- 


8  THE   POOR  WHITE. 


lief,  as  Worldbrk  stepped  into  the  carry-all 
and  drove  off.  Soon  the  children  crept  from 
their  hiding-places,  like  chickens  terrified  by 
a  hawk. 

"  Deary  me  !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Dean,  "how 
scart  I  be !  Is  you  all  here  ?  Let's  see : 
Lottie,  Johnny,  Elsie,  Bill,  Tomtit,  an'  Snipe, 
but  Where's  Sam  ?  " 

"Why,"  replied  Johnny,  "don't  you  know? 
He's  gone  to  bring  home  the  goat;  it's  his 
turn,  you  know." 

This  family,  with  a  thoughtfulness  rare 
among  poor  whites,  had  bought  a  goat,  which 
was  tethered  at  the  nearest  grassy  spots,  and 
when  night  came,  was  led  home  to  be  milked, 
and  tied  near  the  door  of  the  cabin. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  mother,  anxiously,  "  an'  he 
will  meet  that  dreadful  man,  an'  I  reckon  he'll 
tote  him  off.  It's  high  time  Sam  an'  the 
goat  was  hum.  I'll  jist  step  out  an'  see  if 
they  is  comin'."  The  mother  went  around  the 
corner  of  the  cabin,  followed  by  her  children, 
and  at  a  little  distance  down  the  road  was 


TROUBLE    IN    THE    CABIN.  9 


goaty,  trudging  homeward,  looking  as  forlorn 
as  she  could. 

"  Sakes  alive  !  "  screamed  Mrs.  Dean,  "the 
goat  is  comm'  all  alone,  for  all  the  world ! 
Where  is  Sam?  Oh,  Sam  !  Sam  !  "  and  the 
woods  echoed  with  her  calls. 

"  ^Yhat's  to  pay  naou  ?  "  moderately  called 
Mr.  Dean,  from  the  log  aperture. 

"  That  are  man  has  carried  off  our  Sam,  I'll 
lay  he  has  !  "  cried  Mrs.  Dean. 

"I  shouldn't  wonder,"  replied  the  father, 
still  puffing  smoke. 

"Run,  run,  then,  all  on  ye  !  "  shouted  Mrs. 
Dean;  "  cZacZ  run  too!  Oh,  do  run!  Don't 
let  him  'slave  one  of  us  white  folks  !  "  and  she 
started  down  the  cart-path  of  the  pine-wood 
after  the  vehicle.  In  a  few  moments  she 
stopped,  overcome  with  emotion  and  panting 
for  breath ;  and  soon  after,  the  whole  troop  of 
children,  headed  by  Lottie,  came  up,  and  the 
mother  wildly  sent  them  on,  telling  them  to 
stop  the  carriage  and  save  Sam,  for  in  her 
distress  she   scarcely  knew  what  she  said  or 


10  THE   POOR  WHITE. 

did.  Mr.  Dean  now  joined  her,  and  began  to 
reason  with  her  about  the  vain  attempt  of  try- 
ing to  recover  the  boy. 

"  What's  the  use  o'  tr3'ing  to  git  him  back  ?  " 
said  he,  in  a  despairing  tone.  "  Sam  can't  be 
worse  off,  an'  he'll  be  better  off,  like  as  not, 
if  he  is  a  slave.  He's  oot  to  do  suthin'  or 
starve^  an'  I'm  'bleeged  tow  them  that  starts 
him,  if  they  is  kidnappers.  I  wish  I'd  been 
stole  myself,  when  I  was  a  youngster,  rather 
than  live  this  'ere  half-an'-half  life.  If  Sam's 
gone,  there's  one  less  to  feed,  an'  one  less  to 
beg  old  clothes  of  the  slaves." 

"The  land!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Dean;  ''do 
you  think  I'll  let  a  slave-driver  have  one  of  my 
children?  I'd  tear  his  eyes  out  fast.  Come, 
Dean,  if  you've  got  any  spunk  left,  show  it 
for  oncet  an'  bring  back  our  Sam." 

"  What's  the  use  ? "  returned  the  disheart- 
ened husband,  folding  his  arms,  and  sitting 
down  on  a  rotten  log  beside  the  cart-path. 
"  There  aint  any  hope  we  shall  ever  be  any 
better  off.     The  rich  'uns  wont   employ  us, 


TKOUBLE   IN  THE   CABIN.  11 

they've  got  people  'nuff  who  work  without  pay. 
The  land  owes  us  a  living.  All  we  ken  do  is 
to  raise  a  leetle  corn,  steal  more,  beg  butter- 
milk, an'  bring  up  our  chiPen  to  be  thieves 
an'  beggars.  I'd  rather  be  in  States  Prisin,* 
by  half." 

"  Well,  I  don't  much  wonder,"  replied  Mrs. 
Dean.  ''  But  I  shall  try  my  best  to  keep  up 
a  little  courage ;  can't  do  nothin'  without 
that,  you  know.  I  ken  pray,  an'  I  do  believe 
the  Lord  he'll  deliver  us  somehow." 

"I  used  to  think  so,"  said  Mr.  Dean;  "I 
never  prayed  myself,  but  arter  that  are  JNIeth- 
odist  camp-meetin'  we  tended,  when  w^e  was 
fust  married,  I  made  lots  of  'count  of  your 
prayers,  but  nothin's  come  of  'em  yit,  an  I've 
made  up  my  mind  there  aint  nothin'  in  reli- 
gion ;  it's  all  moonshine." 

" 'Siah  Dean!"  exclaimed  the  wife,  "be 
done  w^ith  that  talk ;  I'll  hear  anything  Init 
slurs  at  my  religion.  I  tell  you  there  is  suth- 
in'  to  it ;  I  feel  it  at  my  heart,  and  I  know 
God  will  help  us  yet.     You'll  live  to  see  it." 


12  THE   POOR   WHITE. 

**I  shall  live  over  the  same  old  miserable 
life,  and  never  see  nothiu'  better,"  said  Mr. 
Dean. 

"Dear  me,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Dean,  "  what  a 
scarry  man  you  be  ! " 

*^If  there'd  been  a  God  in  heaven,  as  you 
say,"  said  Mr.  Dean,  "he'da-saved  the  slaves 
afore  this  time  in  answer  to  their  prayers. 
IVe  heard  you  pray,  wife,  like  a  minister : 
but  you  can't  begin  with  the  old,  pious  slaves  ; 
an'  I  say  if  there  had  been  any  God,  he'd 
a-heard  'em  afore  now." 

"  I  believe  he'll  hear  'em  yit,  in  his  own 
good  time,"  replied  Mrs.  Dean. 

"  Mebbe  not,"  said  the  broken-spirited  hus-. 
band.  "  I'd  ruther  take  my  chance  with  'em, 
however,  as  they  be,  than  with  the  poor 
whites." 

"  Well,  I  don't  want  our  Sam  to  be  toted 
off  whar  we  can't  never  see  him  ag'in,"  said 
the  mother. 

"It'll  be  of  no  'arthly  use,"  said  the  other, 
"  if  we  do  try  to  git  him.     If  he's  toted  off  by 


TROUBLE   IN   THE   CABIN.  13 


that  are  slave-ketcher,  we  can't  help  it ;  an'  if 
we  could,  I  don't  know  as  we  ought  to.  By 
my  reck'nin',  Sam,  he'll  be  lots  happier  a 
slave  than  a  poor  white." 

"  Why,  Dean,  how  you  do  talk  ! "  exclaimed 
the  troubled  wife  ;  "  don't  we  belong  to  one  of 
the  fust  families  in  Virginny?  Mebbe  we 
shall  yit  git  up  in  the  world  ag'in,  and  be 
rispectable  ;  who  knows  ?  " 

"Yis,  Betty,  we  come  down  to  our  low 
place  from  a  high  family,  a  rich  family.  My 
grandfather  was  a  wealthy  slave-owner,  an' 
all  my  great  grandfathers  was,  of  course. 
My  father,  you  know,  was  raised  in  idleness, 
got  tow  be  a  drunkard,  spent  his  property, 
died  a  young  man,  leavin'  his  children  to 
take  their  level  with  the  poor  whites,  'an 
here  we  is,  poorer  than  the  crows." 

"  I  wish  my  heart  there  warn't  a  slave  in 
the  land,"  cried  Mrs.  Dean. 

"  Yis,  we  may  well  say  that.  There'd  be  a 
chance  for  us  then  to  git  a  footin'  in  the 
world.     Then  our  boys  could  all  have  trades, 


14  THE    POOR    WHITE. 

for  there'd  be  work  enough,  an'  it  would  be 
fashionable  to  work,  and  our  gals  could  go 
tow  school  and  larn  tow  read.  Yis,  there'd 
be  some  hope  fur  us  if  there  wa'n't  no  slaves  ; 
but  there  is  slaves,  an'  it's  my  mind  there  alus 
will  be,  an'  there  aint  no  chance  fur  such  as 
we  be.  It's  no  use ;  we  must  die  as  we  be, 
thieves  and  beggars." 

*'I  can't  stop  no  longer,  indeed  can't  I,"  ex- 
claimed Mrs.  Dean,  havinir  recovered  her 
breath.  "  I  shan't  never  git  Sam  back  at  this 
rate." 

"  It'll  be  of  no  'arthly  use,"  replied  the  hus- 
band, "  but  we  n^y  as  well  see  to  the  rest  of 
the  children.  If  the  slave  buyer'd  kidnap 
Sam,  he'd  make  no  bones  stealin'  more  on 
'em  if  he  sees  'em." 

"  Oh,  dear,  so  he  would  !  I  never  thought 
of  that,"  groaned  the  wife,  more  alarmed  than 
ever.  In  a  few  moments,  the  double  quick 
pace  of  the  parents  brought  them  up  with  the 
children,  who,  having  reached  the  two  forks 
of  the  roads,  could  not  tell  which  to  take. 


THOVULE   IN   THE   CABIN.  I5 

"Scud  for  the  cabin,  chicks,"  shouted  Mrs. 

Dean,    or  tlicman'll  tote  you  off!  "and  away 

ttT' "'"*"'"'••     "^^-'"  continued 
the  ™ie,    you  go  one  road,  an'  I'll  go  t'other 

a(i' we'll  git  Sam  anyhow."  ' 

"It'llbeof  no  'arthly  use,"  replied  Mr. 
Dean,  "but  I  ken  go  to  satisfy  you." 


II. 

Where's  Sam? 
^  '"^  ■  HEN  the  children  reached  the  cabin. 


there  stood  the  goat  quietly  nibbling 
the  scattered  tufts  of  grass,  just  as  if  nothing 
had  happened. 

"  Why,  Pinky,"  said  Lottie,  addressing  the 
animal,  "  how  could  you  come  home  without 
Sam  ?  You  mean  thing  !  I  wouldn't  stir  foot 
to  milk  you  if  it  wasn't  fur  supper." 

"Maa  !"  said  the  goat,  in  defence. 

The  little  tribe  burst  into  fits  of  laughter  at 
this. 

"Yes,"  said  Lottie,  "I  don't  doubt  it. 
You've  the  same  excuse  for  everything,  — 
'Maa!'" 

"  Cracky  !  I  wish  Pinky  could  talk  for  once, 
and  tell  us  what  she  see,  don't  you?"  said 
John,  to  Lottie. 

16 


WHERE'S   SAM?  17 

"If  she  wur  eatin'  grass,  she  couldn't  see 
niiffin',"  said  Tomtit,  whose  delight  it  was  to 
take  the  opposite  view  of  things ;  "  course 
she  couldn't." 

"  Leave  Pinky  alone  fur  that,"  said  Eottie ; 
'*  she  knows  lots.  She  ken  eat  an'  see  too  ; 
can't  you.  Pinky?"  The  creature  stopped 
grazing,  and  actually  rubbed  her  head  against 
Lottie's  tattered  dress,  which  the  kind  girl 
interpreted  in  her  favor. 

"  She  says,  '  Yes,'  "  said  Lottie. 

'^  Poh  !  poh  !  "  said  John ;  "  she  says  she 
wants  you  to  hurry  an'  milk  her." 

"No,  no,"  called  out  Tomtit;  "she  say 
why  don't  you  go  an'  find  Sam?  Great  case 
you  be  to  find  folks  !  If  I'd  had  my  way,  I'd 
found  him  afore  now." 

"  Why  didn't  you  then?  "  asked  John. 

"  'Cause  you  wouldn't  let  me  ;  didn't  I  tell  you 
I  seed  kerridge-tracks  on  that  right-hand  road  ?  " 

"Yis,  an'  there  was  tracks  on  t'other  too;" 
said  Lottie. 

"  Well,  ye  see,  the  kerridge  went  down  one 


18  THE   POOU   WIUTE. 


road,  turned  round,  an'  went  on  the  right- 
hand  one  fur  good,  an'  I  told  ye  so,  an'  if  we'd 
kei3t  on,  we'd  found  him  afore  now,  I  reckon." 

"Dad  ur  mam'll  find  him,  I  reckon,"  said 
John. • 

"If  they  don't,"  said  Lottie,  "  I'll  tell  you 
what,  boys ;  I'll  go  till  I  find  him  !  " 

"  You  !  "  cried  Tomtit.  "  You'd  look  putty, 
gwine  through  the  woods  arter  Sam  !  How 
long  would  it  be  afore  you'd  be  kidnapped 
yourself?  " 

"Hush,  Tommy!"  said  Lottie;  "I  must 
milk  Pinky,  fur  it's  gittin'  dark,  an'  it's  time 
we  w^as  safe  in  the  house." 

"Wait,  let  me  tie  her  fust,"  said  John. 

"  What's  the  use  of  tying  the  goat,  when 
she  stands  still  without  ?  "  asked  Tcftutit ;  so 
the  children  clustered  around  Lottie  and  the 
goat,  as  the  milking  went  on,  all  chattering 
like  blackbirds,  and  hoping  for  the  best  as  it 
regarded  Sam,  with  the  exception  of  Tomtit, 
who  "  bleeved  he  was  toted  ofi",  sure  'nuff." 

It  was  a  sad  and  touching  sight  to  see  that 


"JVHERE's   SAM?  19 


fiimily  group.  Americans  they  were,  like 
ourselves, —  but  Americans  reared  almost  in 
barbarous  life.  Not  one  of  them  had  ever 
seen  the  inside  of  a  school-room,  or  been  to 
Sabbath  school  or  to  church.  Their  mother 
was  a  Christian  woman,  but  could  not  read ; 
neither  could  the  father.  Think  of  it :  what 
a  home  that  must  be  without  one  book  in  it ! 
Of  course  the  Bible  was  out  of  the  question, 
and  as  no  minister  had  happened  there  for 
the  last  twelve  years,  and  she  had  no  Chris- 
tian friends,  Mrs.  Dean,  in  her  ignorance  and 
darkness,  had  her  ideas  of  right  and  wrong 
strangely  mingled.  She  even  came  to  think 
it  was  right  for  her  children  to  help  them- 
selves to  coi'n  and  potatoes  from  the  fields  of 
the  wealthy  planters,  whose  lands  bordered 
the  pine  forest.  §he  reasoned  thus  ;  or  rather 
she  adopted  her.husband's  logic  :  "  If  the  rich 
men  would  free  their  slaves,  and  hire  us, 
right  smart  glad  would  we  be  to  work ;  but  as 
they  keep  us  down  by  holding  slaves,  we 
must  live,  and  they  in  part  owe  us  a  living. 
We  must  do  as  well  as  we  can." 


20  THE   POOR   WHITE. 


It  is  hardly  possible  to  conceive  of  a  more 
wretched  abode  than  the  Dean  cabin.  The 
earth  was  the  floor,  and  as  there  was  onh^  one 
bedstead,  two  corners  of  the  room  had  ticks 
filled  with  straw  and  dry  leaves  to  serve  the 
purpose  of  beds .  Bed-clothing  they  had  none , 
for  it  was  the  custom  of  the  family  to  turn  in, 
*■  like  a  hog  in  armor,"  without  undressing. 
Mrs.  Dean  was  an  energetic,  wide-awake  wo- 
man, and  not  quite  reconciled  to  this  state 
of  things.  Unlike  the  poorest  of  the  poor 
whites,  she  had  a  loom  and  spinning-wheel, 
and  spun  and  wove  all  the  cotton  and  wool 
she  could  get,  and  made  the  cloth  into  gar- 
ments for  her  needy  household,  but  she  could 
not  keep  them  comfortably  clad.*  The  one 
suit  apiece  for  the  year  would  get  very  ragged, 
with  all  her  mending  and  patching,  before  the 
year  came  round.  She  was  continually  de- 
vising ways  and  means  to  improve  their  condi- 
tion, but  to  little  pui-pose.  Herself  and  house- 
hold were  under  the  Juggernaut  wheel  of  the 
Slave  Power,  and  what  availed  their  efi'orts 
to  get  free  ? 


Where's  sam?  21 

%• 

But  Mrs.  Dean  was  a  true  Christian  although 
an  ignorant  one,  and  she  prayed  over  her 
troubles,  and  tried  to  do  her  best  to  bring  up 
her  children  ariglit.  She  did  not  expect  much 
for  them  in  this  world,  but  she  determined  to 
aid  them  to  the  utmost,  in  coming  to  Christ, 
that  they  might  secure  the  riches  of  heaven. 
She  was  almost  untaught  herself,  knowing 
only  a  few  passages  of  Scripture,  the  Lord's 
Prayer,  and  "  ]N'ow  I  lay  me  down  to  sleep  ;  " 
but  these  she  diligently  taught  her  children, 
and  that  humble  home  was  in  truth  far  more 
blessed  than  the  princely  abodes  of  the  neigh- 
boring planters. 

Why? 

Because  poor  Mrs.  Dean  loved  and  trusted 
in  her  Saviour,  and  because  he  made  her  happy 
with  the  blessing  of  his  spirit, —  with  his  own 
gracious  presence.  It  was  not  the  outward 
appearance  that  Jesus  looked  at,  when  he 
stooped  to  listen  to  this  good  woman's  peti- 
tions, it  was  the  heart  that  he  regarded ;  and 
seeing   there  a  childlike  and  trusting  dispo- 


|2     €> 


THE   rOOR   WHITE. 


sition,  humble  and  contrite,  this  was  to  him 
of  great  price,  and  he  gave  her  the  smiles  of 
his  countenance,  which  made  that  dim  dwell- 
ing, at  times,  radiant  with  peace. 

Mrs.  Dean,  like  some  Christians  in  more 
favored  circumstances,  thought  that  children 
could  not  be  early  brought  to  the  Saviour. 
She  had  never  in  all  her  life  heard  the  pas- 
sage "  Suffer  the  little  chddren  to  come  unto  me 
and  forbid  them  not,  for  of  such  is  the  king- 
dom of  heaven ; "  if  she  had,  I  am  sure  she 
would  have  encouraged  her  little  ones  to  come 
at  once.  As  it  was,  she  sowed  the  seed,  re- 
peating to  them  the  simple  story  of  the  cross 
over  and  over  again,  and  in  such  earnest, 
soul-moving  terms  as  always  interested  them. 
In  substance  it  was  this  :  we  are  all  sinners  ; 
and  when  we  could  not  help  ourselves  at  all, 
Jesus  Christ,  God's  only  Son,  came  down 
from  heaven  and  died  for  us,  so  that  we  can 
be  forgiven.  Now  whosoever  will,  may  come 
to  him  and  be  saved  from  hell. 

It  was  this  mother's  first  ambition  to  have 


Where's  sam?  23 

her  children  Christians.  "  If  they  fail  of  do- 
ing much  in  this  life,"  prayed  she,  "  let  them 
not  fail  of  heaven  !  "  She  expected,  however, 
that  they  would  give  their  hearts  to  Christ 
when  they  became  older,  and  in  this  it  was 
according  to  her  faith ;  for  one  by  one  when 
they  reached  the  age  at  which  she  looked  for 
it,  they  yielded  their  hearts  to  him. 

Lottie,  seventeen,  and  Sam,  two  years  youn- 
ger, had  thus  chosen  the  good  part,  an  interest 
in  Christ,  which,  if  they  proved  faithful,  could 
never  be  taken  away  from  them.  Next,  it  was 
Mrs.  Dean's  ambition  to  have  her  children 
learn  to  read  and  write,  and  acquire  an  honest 
trade,  that  they  might  have  the  means  of  sub- 
sistence. In  this,  she  was  very  far  before 
the  mass  of  the  poor  whites,  being  elevated 
hy  her  Teligion. 

Lottie  finished  milking  the  goat,  and  John 
and  Tonitit  gathered  grass  for  its  food  for  the 
night,  and  placed  it  at  the  foot  of  a  pine  be- 
side the  cabin ;  then  tying  it  securely',  they 
all  went  in  and  ate  supper.     This  consisted 


24  THE   POOR   W^HITE. 


of  a  half-gill  of  milk  each,  measured  in  a 
clam-shell,  and  a  bit  of  cold  ash  pone. 
Neither  did  they  complain  at  their  stinted 
fare,  but  pleasantly  took  it  as  a  matter  of 
coiu'se,  John  wondering  how  the  poor  chil- 
dren got  along  who  had  no  goat,  and  Lottie 
saying,  "We  ought  to  be  Riankful  for  this 
nice  ash  pone,  it  is  so  well  salted  and  baked." 
Then  Elsie,  Bill,  and  Snipe  went  to  bed, 
being  tired  out  with  chasing  buttei-flies  and 
each  other,  in  the  woods  all  day,  and  the 
three  older  ones  stationed  themselves  at  the 
long  window,  to  watch  for  the  coming  of 
their  father  and  mother. 

Two  classes  of  insects  kept  their  attention 
awake, — the  fire-flies  and  the  musquitoes. 
They  really  seemed  to  vie  with  each  other ; 
the  one  class,  by  their  splendid  show  of  fire- 
works, lightening  now  this  twig,  now  that, 
and  the  other  singing  for  an  accompaniment 
a  blood-thirsty  war-whoop. 

"  How  them  are  light nin'  bugs  do  fire  up," 
exclaimed  Tomtit ;  "  you  can't  do  that,  John." 


Where's  sam?  25 

"  I  don't  think  I  shall  try,"  replied  John, 
laughing. 

"  Hear  them  are  skeeturs  yell,"  said  Tomtit 
again.     "  Wont  they  half  eat  us  up  to-night?" 

"  I  wonder  dad  and  mam  don't  come ! " 
said  Lottie,  straining  l^r  eyes  to  see  impossi- 
bilities down  the  cart-path. 

At  length,  late  in  the  evening,  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Dean  returned,  being  unsuccessful  in  the 
search.  On  inquiry  at  the  nearest  cabin, 
three  miles  distant,  the  mother  found  that  the 
carriage  had  passed  three  hours  before,  and 
mourning  for  her  lost  boy,  she  languidly 
plodded  toward  home,  meeting  her  husband 
on  the  way ;  for  finding  that  the  carriage  had 
turned  back  on  the  road  he  had  taken,  he  re- 
traced his  steps  to  join  his  wife. 

"Oh,  dad,  mam,  didn't  you  find  Sam?" 
cried  the  three  oldest  children,  in  a  breath. 

"  No,"  said  the  mother ;  "  we  must  pray  the 
Lord  to  take  care  of  him !  "  and  sadly  the 
family  went  to  their  rest. 


III. 

What  was  behintd  the  Black  Curtain. 

ORKTORK  had  driven  only  a  short 
distance  from  the  cabin  when  he  met 
Sam  taking  home  the  goat.  His  head  was 
hatless,  and  covered  with  a  tangled  mass  of 
brown  curls.  The  warm  winter  suit  which 
his  mother,  at  great  pains,  had  made  him  the 
year  before,  still  hung  to  him  in  patches.  As 
he  came  in  sight  of  the  carry-all,  he  was 
whistling  a  Yh'ginia  reel,'  which  air  he  had 
caught  from  a  slave  of  a  plantation  near  by. 
Workfork  stopped  his  horses. 

"Hallo,  youngster,  see  here.  I'm  in  a 
quandary,  and  I  want  you  to  help  me  out." 

"  AVhat's  to  pay  now?"  asked  Sam,  nothing 
daunted. 

"  I've  lost  my  way.  I  want  to  go  to  Turn- 
er's Cross  Roads  ;  can  you  show  me  ?  " 

26 


BEHIND  THE   BLACK   CURTAIN.  27 


"Yes,  indeed,  I  know  the  way,"  replied 
Sam.     "Jest  let  me  take  the  goat  home." 

"Oh,  no,"  said  Workfork,  "can't  wait  for 
that ;  business  is  urgent.  .  The  goat  will  do 
well  enough  ;  jump  right  in,  I'll  pay  you  well," 
and  almost  before  he  knew  it,  Sam  had  let  fro 
his  hold  of  the  rope  by  which  he  led  the  goat, 
and  was  lifted  into  the  carriao-e. 

Workfork  was  very  pleasant  to  Sam,  plying 
him  with  oranges  and  candy,  "goodies"  which 
the  boy  had  never  before  tasted. 

After  they  had  rode  a  half-dozen  miles, 
Sam,  having  pointed  out  the  right  road,  told 
him  that  he  was  now  ready  to  go  back. 

"Oh,  no,"  said  Workfork,  "not  yet;  it'll 
be  pitch  dark  afore  you  git  half  home.  Keep 
along  with  me;  you'll  have  a  good  trip, 
plenty  to  eat,  and  you'll  git  home  all  in  good 
time." 

"Much  obleeged,"  said  Sam,  "but  it's  time 
I  was  gwine;  stop  them  are  bosses,  wont 
ye?" 

"No,  sir,"  replied  Workfork,  savagely,  "I 


28  THE   POOR   WHITE. 

ruther  think  not ;  I'm  bound  to  have  my  way 
fnr  a  piece.  How  should  sich  a  youngster  as 
you  be,  know  when  it's  best  to  go  hum?  If  I 
shoukllet  you  go,  and  a  big  bear  shoukl  ketch 
you  an'  eat  you  up,  government  woukl  make 
me  pay  the  damage,  and  ye  see,  young  cub, 
you  can't  come  it.  I  don't  intend  to  turn  you 
over  to  the  panthers  and  wikl-cats  to-night." 

Sam  saw  it  was  no  use  demurring,  and  ac- 
cordingly kept  quiet.  His  suspicions,  how- 
ever, were  aroused,  that  all  was  not  right,  and 
he  determined  to  start  early  the  next  morning, 
and  run  home.  He  now  discovered  that  the 
carry-all  had  other  occupants  besides  the  driver 
and  himself.  As  it  gi-ew  dusk,  "Workfork  slid 
a  black  cm-tain  in  the  back  of  the  vehicle,  and 
there  sat  an  old  slave  woman  and  two  little 
white  boys,  ^ve  and  three  years  old. 

"That's  the  bedroom,"  said  he;  "climb  in 
there  and  go  to  sleep,  youngster."  Sam 
obeyed  the  fii'st  direction  ;  the  last,  under  the 
circumstances,  was  likely  to  take  some  time. 

"  See  here,  old  woman,"  roughly  called  out 


BEHIND  THE  BLACK  CUETAIN.      29 

Workfork,   "have  you  blackened  them  are 
boys'  faces  ?  " 

"I  done  tried  to,  massa,"  said  Chaiuy,  "but 
de  cork  wa'n't  burnt  right;  I  couldn't  make 
'em  black.  'Pears  like  it  wouldn't  stick. 
deir  complexion  so  clar-like." 

"Nonsense,"  said  he;  " always  ready  with 
yer  excuses.  Well,  here's  plenty  more;  see 
If  you  ken  give  'em  a  leetle  more  ebony  tinge 
now ;  "  and  he  opened  a  tin  box  in  which  were 
quantities  of  burnt  cork. 

"If  you  don't  black  'em  up  well,"  continued 
he,  fiercely,  "you'll  ketch  one  rare  mauling, 
old  crone,  that's  all."  Sam  shrank  frightened 
into  the  corner  of  the  carry-all,  wondering  and 
dreading  what  would  come  next. 

Meanwhile,  poor  old  Chainy,  taking  little 
Frank  on  her  knee,  began  rubbing  his  face 
with  the  cork. 

"You  be  done,"  exclaimed  the  little  boy; 
"  I  wont  be  black." 

"De  man  says  you  must,"  said  Chainy; 
"he  whip  you  awful,  if  you  don't  let  me 
smooch  your  face." 


30  THE   rOOR   WHITE. 

"  Can  I  wash  it  off,  mammy  ? "  whispered 
Frank.  She  was  his  old  nurse,  and  he  called 
her  by  this  endearing  title. 

"Yis,  honey,  right  smart  quick,  when  we 
gits  tow  the  creek,"  and  away  she  rubbed, 
face,  neck,  ears,  hands,  and  arms,  until  not 
a  vestige  of  white  was  to  be  seen.  Then, 
putting  down  Frank  on  the  seat,  she  took 
up  little  Hal,  two  years  ypunger.  He,  the 
pet  of  a  fine  old  mansion,  "  the  baby,"  "  tLfe 
pearl,"  "  the  silver  dove,"  the  "  my  precious  " 
of  the  mother,  was  to  be  blackened  to  be  sold 
as  a  slave  !  Little  did  that  mother  think  that 
day,  when  she  sent  Chainy  to  walk  in  the  park 
with  her  two  little  boys,  of  the  evil  that  would 
befall  them. 

Once  there  was  a  man  who  found  a  frozen 
viper  in  the  fields  in  winter.  He  carried  it 
home,  warmed  and  brought  it  to  life,  fed  and 
made  a  pet  of  it.  But  scarcely  had  he  com- 
menced caressing  it,  when  it  basely  bit  him ! 
Yes,  bit  its  benefactor  !  So  it  is  with  all  sin 
and  vice.     They  are  like  venomous  snakes ; 


BEHIND   THE   BLACK  CURTAIN.  31 

they  bite  most  fatally  those  who  nourish  them. 
The  father  and  mother  of  these  little  boys 
believed  in  slavery.  They  said  that  they 
could  prove  from  the  Bible  that  it  was  right  to 
hold  slaves,  and  quieted  their  consciences  and 
kept  their  slaves  by  such  reasoning.  But 
little  did  they  think  that  their  principles 
w^ould  be  thus  tested.  They  had  forgotten 
that  God  is  no  respecter  of  persons ;  they 
had  forgotten  the  Saviour's  great  rule  of 
action :  "  Whatsoever  ye  would  that  men 
should  do  to  you,  do  ye  even  so  to  them." 
Ah,  it  was  no  worse  for  their  little  children  to 
be  enslaved  than  for  the  children  of  their  poor 
colored  neighbor.  And  if  slavery  is  a  divine 
institution  in  the  light  of  this  law,  we  must 
expect  the  different  races  to  take  turns  in 
enduring  its  penalty. 

Little  Hal  was  a  darling  boy,  however, 
and  it  did  seem  too  bad  to  make  a  slave  of 
him.  Old  Chainy  thought  so  as  she  rubbed 
on  the  blacking.  She  thought,  too,  of  her 
own   dear  little  boy  of  long   ago,  who  had 


32  THE   POOR  WHITE. 


been  lost,  and  Sam  saw  her  tears  fall  thick 
and  fast.  Sam's  eyes  watered  at  that,  and 
in  spite  of  himself,  he  could  not  help  his  own 
tears  from  coming. 

"  Got  through  there  ? "  called  out  Work- 
fork,  putting  his  head  within  the  curtain. 

"  Yis,  massa,"  tremblingly  replied  Chainy. 

"But  you  haven't  blacked  the  youngster;" 
thus  he  called  Sam.  "  Make  him  black  as  the 
ace  of  spades,  hair  and  all ;  do  3'ou  hear, 
Chainy?" 

"Yis,  massa;"  and  Chainy  turned  to  Sam, 
with  the  burnt  cork  in  her  hand,  as  Work- 
fork  withdrew  his  head,  and  gave  his  horses  a 
cut  with  his  whip. 

"  I  got  to  be  black  ?  "  asked  Sam,  in  amaze- 
ment. "  I  wont,  though  ;  what's  I  done  ?  I 
sha'n't  stand  it,  indeed  wont  I ; "  and  with  a 
summerset  and  a  flourish  of  heels,  in  some 
unheard-of  way  he  was  out  of  the  carriage  in 
hot  haste.  He  fell  tumbling  into  a  ditch,  and 
was  so  much  hurt  that  he  could  not  make  his 
escape  as  he  had  planned ;  so  all  Vf  orkfork 


BEHIND  THE   BLACK  CURTAIN.  33 

had  to  do  was  to  stop  and  pick  him  up,  giv- 
ing him  a  few  blows  with  the  whip. 

"  Villyun  !  "  he  called  out,  "  try  that  game 
agin,  an'  I'll  trounce  you  within  an  inch  of 
your  life." 

Sam  was  a  boy  of  great  spirit  for  a  poor 
white,  and  it  was  with  no  little  sacrifice  of 
pride  that  he  submitted  to  be  colored.  Aunt 
Chainy  coaxed  and  coaxed. 

"  Ye  see,  honey,"  said  she,  "  if  you  don't  let 
me  do't,  he'll  beat  me  at  de  whippin'-post ; " 
this  availed  more  than  his  own  fears,  and  so 
he  sat  still  while  the  good  old  woman  fitted 
him  up  for  sale. 

"What  does  he  want  you  to  do  this  for? 
What  is  he  gwine  to  do  with  us  ?  "  whispered 
Sam. 

"  Oh,  don't  ask,"  returned  Chainy,  mourn" 
fully ;  "  I  reckons  he  gwine  to  sell  us  all." 

"  What  can  I  do  ?  "   asked  Sam. 

"  De  Lord  knows,  Chainy  don't,"  said  the 
poor  woman ;  "  p'r'aps  you  pray  an'  he'll  de- 
liver you.     I'se  hearn  tell  of  sich  things." 


KtW^L' 


34  THE    rOOR   WHITE. 


**  Ha  1  ha  !  "  laughed  Workfork,  not  hear- 
ing their  talk,  putting  his  head  within  the 
curtain,  "  that's  the  go  !  a  curly-headed  nig- 
ger !  seU  for  $1200;  that's  what  I  call  a 
spec."  Then,  turning  back  to  attend  to  his 
driving,  his  eye  fell  upon  a  black  boy,  a  slave 
of  ten  years  old,  plodding  along  by  the  road- 
side. The  slave-driver  was  desirous  of  adding 
him  to  his  list  of  stolen  articles.  The  boy 
had  been  sent  on  an  errand  to  another  planta- 
tion, and  had  in  his  hand  a  written  "  pass  "  or 
permission  to  go.  Workfork  stopped  and 
called  out  to  him. 

"  Hello,  you  young  rascal,  what  you  run- 
ning away  for  ?  " 

The  boy  smiled,  and  held  out  his  pass  for 
answer. 

"Here,  let  me  read  it,"  said  Workfork; 
the  boy  handed  it  to  him.    It  was  as  follow^s  : 

"  Let  the  boy  Eafe  pass  and  repass  from 
Wakefield  to  Holderness.  William  Schor- 

man. 

"Wakefield,  Tuesday  morning." 


BEHIND  THE  BLACK  CURTAIN.      35 


"Oh,  well,"  said  the  dealer,  "I'm  gwme 
right  there  by  another  road.  Jump  in,  I  ken 
cany  you  as  well  as  not." 

Eafc  had  never  been  offered  a  ride  in  his 
life,  and  he  looked  incredulously  at  his  new 
friend. 

"Git  in  this  minute,  you  young  villyun;" 
and  accustomed  to  obey  the  stern  word  of 
command,  Rafe  climbed  into  the  carry-all,  and 
was  borne  rapidly  away. 

"I  wonder  whose  turn'll  come  next," 
thought  Sam. 


IV. 

Strange  use  of  Mrs.  Dean's  Cowhide  Shoes. 

^/T  was  little  that  Mrs.  Dean  slept,  the  night 
(xJj  after  Sam  was  missing.  She  wept  and 
prayed  much,  and  Lottie,  often  awaking, 
heard  her  sobs  and  her  low-voiced  prayer,  in 
which  this  Christian  daughter  joined  with  all 
her  heart.  Mr.  Dean  and  the  rest  of  the 
family  slept  on  soundly.  He  made  much  of 
his  sleep,  and  often  said  that  it  was  all  the 
comfort  he  had.  A  drink  of  whiskey  and  a 
nap  served  to  drown  his  trouble  ;  he  could 
not  live  without  strong  drink  and  sound  sleep. 
The  next  day,  mother  and  daughter  were 
stirring  with  the  earliest  dawn.  The  morning 
came  in  the  most  sombre  of  drabquaker  hues, 
not  even  having  the  taste  to  throw  a  pink 
scarf  over  her  shoulders.  An  ugly  cowl  of 
dark  gray  quite  hid  her  face, —  no  white  nor 


BETTY  DE.1N*S   COWHIDE   SHOES.  37 

blue  was  to  be  seen ;  in  fact,  her  dress  was  in 
half-moupiiing  goods.  Gradually  vapors  took 
wings  from  the  vast  swamps  that  bordered  the 
rivers  for  and  near,  and  brooded  like  a  pall 
over  the  tree-tops,  then,  descending  and  drift- 
ing in  by  the  slight  current  of  air,  every- 
thing visible  and  invisible  was  enveloped  in  a 
dense  cloud  of  moisture. 

"I  am  so  sorry  to  see  a  storm  brewin'," 
said  Mrs.  Dean,  as  she  struck  a  flint  over 
tinder,  to  kindle  a  fire. 

"Perhaps  it  will  clar  up,  an'  the  sun  burst 
through  bimeby,"  hopefully  suggested  Lottie. 
"I  hope  so  too,"  said  the  mother;  "but  I 
see  yisterday  that  the  water  biled  out  of  the 
kittle  'mazin'  quick,  an'  that's  a  sure  sign  that 
a  storm  is  brewin'  in  the  sky." 

" Mother,  what's  to  be  done  'bout  Sam?" 
asked  Lottie. 

"  Suthin'  must  be  done,"  replied  the  mother, 
earnestly ;  "  'twont  do  to  give  it  up  in  this 
way.  We  must  all  go  to  huntin'  for  him.  You 
know,  Lottie"— here  the  tinder  caught,  and 


38  THE  POOR  WHITE. 


the  diy  leaves  and  bits  of  pitch-pine  together 
blazed  up  cheerily  in  the  big  fireplace,  built  of 
sticks  and  clay, — "that  our  Sam  is  high-spirited 
as  a  wild  horse,  an'  he  wont  be  toted  off  without 
showin'  fight,  an'  I've  been  thiukin'  what  if  he's 
left  somewhere  half-killed  by  that  are  wicked 
man.  We  must  some  of  us  go  to-day  and 
find  him.  I  rather  think  I  shall  go  myself. 
If  I  do,  I  shall  make  a  business  of  it  and  not 
come  back  till  I  find  him." 

"  Mother,  let  me  go,"  said  Lottie.  "If  any- 
thing should  happen  to  you,  what  would  be- 
come of  father  and  the  children  ?  I  aint  of 
much  'count  noways,  an'  I  ken  be  spared  jist 
as  well  as  not." 

"  I'll  think  it  over,"  replied  the  mother,  as 
she  stirred  the  corn-meal,  salt,  and  water  to- 
gether to  the  consistency  of  ash- pone  dough. 

Lottie  then  taking  the  gourd,  which  hung 
in  the  corner  near  the  fireplace,  went  out  to 
milk  the  goat,  her  thoughts  busy  with  leaving 
home  to  find  her  brother. 

Gradually  the  fog  canopy  lifted,  and  the 


BETTY  dean's   COWHIDE   SHOES.  39 


suu  beamed  through  the  curtains  of  clouds, 
and  shimmered  his  beams  down  into  the 
woodjs,  in  little  patches  of  glory.  Lottie 
felt  the  change,  as  she  sat  there  on  the  pine 
log  milking  Pinky. 

"It's  gwine  to  be  a  good  day  to  travel, 
after  all,"  thought  she.  "  Now  if  I  ken  only 
find  Sam,  an'  help  get  him  home  !  " 

As  she  went  in,  the  ash  pones  were  ranged 
on  the  hot  hearth,  nicely  baking  by  the  fire. 
The  children  were  getting  up  out  of  their 
nests  of  straw,  and  as  they  were  dressed  the 
night  before,  they  had  no  long  process  to  go 
through ;  but  their  mother  would  insist  that 
they  should  go  to  the  creek  and  wash  their 
faces  and  hands  before  breakfast,  so  the  morn- 
ing salutation  was  uniformly, — 

"  Run,  chicks,  an'  git  washed  and  aired,  fur 
the  ash  pone  is  a'most  ready.     Scud  !  " 

Mr.  Dean  never  got  up  to  breakfast ;  but 
the  lion's  share  of  ash  pone  and  buttermilk 
was  put  aside  for  his  forenoon  meal  at  ten 
o'clock. 


40  THE   POOR   WHITE. 


"  I  wish  father  would  git  up  this  morning,'^ 
said  Lottie,  as  she  stood  by  the  table  eating 
ash  pone ;  "  I  want  to  ask  him  if  I'd  better 
go.  I  reckon,  though,  I  know  what  he'll 
say." 

"  He'll  say  '  Jist  as  your  mam  says  about 
that,'"  said  Tomtit,  with  his  mouth  full. 

"Mother  is  the  team  in  this  house,"  said 
John ;  "  an'  a  big  load  she  has  to  draw." 

"An'  she  is  ready  an'  willing  to  do  it," 
added  Lottie. 

"  Yis,"  said  Tomtit ;  "  but  what  riles  me  is, 
t'other  ox  is  plaguy  willin'  she  should.  It's 
awful  hard  when  one  ox  goes  ahead  and  t'other 
holds  back —  stands  to  reason  'tis." 

"  Oh,  you  shet  up  with  your  talk,"  said  the 
mother. 

Now  it  happened  that  Mr.  Dean,  being 
more  than  half-awake  for  a  wonder,  heard 
what  was  said,  and  it  had  the  effect  of  setting 
him  to  thinking,  and  shortly  he  got  up,  rubbed 
open  his  eyes,  and  commenced  the  business 
of  the  day. 


BETTY  dean's   COWHIDE   BOOTS.  41 


"Lottie,"  said  he,  "what  did  you  want  to 
ask  me  about?" 

"  Why,  dad,  you  know  our  Sam  is  lost.  I 
want  to  ask  you  if  I  can't  go  and  hunt  him 
up?" 

"You  do!"  said  Mr.  Dean,  in  great  sur- 
prise. "  Wall,  I  must  say  that  beats  all ! 
AYhat  does  your  mam  say  to  it  ?  " 

"Wall,"  replied  Mrs.  Dean,  "since  the 
child  has  her  mind  sot  on  gwine,  she  mought 
as  well  go,  an'  be  done  with  it ;  though  I'm 
sure  we  can't  none  of  us  tell  what'll  happen 
to  her  if  she  leaves  this  are  shelter  of  her 
hum.  But  the  Lord,  he  ken  take  care  of 
her,  ur  I  never  should  durst  saund  her  one 
step." 

"Wall,  wall,  Lottie,"  said  the  father,  sit- 
ting down  on  a  three-legged  stool  and  sipping 
buttermilk,  "your  mother  is  a  strornary 
woman,  depend  upon  it.  You  jist  foller  her 
device,  an'  you'll  do  about  right.  I  don't 
know  what's  best  myself;  but  if  you  will  go, 
I'll  go  with  you  a  piece." 


42  THE   POOR  WHITE. 

"So  M-ill  I,"  said  the  mother,  the  tears 
starting. 

"  So  will  I ! "  echoed  all  the  children. 

As  this  was  a  time  of  great  moment,  Mrs. 
Dean  could  not  let  Lottie  go  until  she  had 
prayed  with  her,  which  she  did  in  the  presence 
of  the  fiimily. 

"  O  Lord,  keep  her  safely,  an'  return  her  to 
us.  Deliver  her  from  evil ! "  these  were 
some  of  her  petitions. 

Little  time  was  spent  in  discussing  the 
question  of  dress,  for  small  choice  could  be 
had  where  one  had  but  a  single  suit.  The 
mother,  however,  was  bent  on  giving  her  a 
decent  fit-out. 

"It  will  make  sich  a  difference  with  the 
way  folks'll  treat  you.  I  don't  want  people 
should  think  you  are  of  the  lowest  of  the 
*Piny  Woods'  people,  but  from  one  of  the 
fust  families." 

"  Oh,  mother,  what  do  I  care?  "  interrupted 
Lottie.     "  I'm  gwine  arter  Sam." 

"Yis,   an'  while  you  are  lookin'  him   up, 


BETTY   bean's   COWHIDE   BOOTS.  43 


other  eyes  will  be  on  3^011,  an'  you  must  make 
folks  respect  you,  ur  else  they  wont  treat 
you  well." 

"  Will  it  do  any  hurt  for  me  to  go  bare- 
foot?" 

"  I  can't  tell  jistly  how  folks  on  the  road 
would  look  at  it,"  said  the  mother. 

"But  I  haint  got  nary  shoes,"  said  Lottie, 
sadly. 

"I  know  it,"  replied  her  mother;  "an' 
when  you  come  to  a  courthouse  village,  ur 
a  town,  you  must  have  a  pair  to  clap  on." 

"But  how  is  I  to  git 'em?" 

"  I  am  gwine  to  let  you  have  my  cowhide 
shoes,"  replied  Mrs.  Dean. 

"Now,  mam,  don't  go  to  lettin'  Lot  have 
your  best  cowhides,  good  as  bran-new," 
pleaded  Tomtit,  for  the  sake  of  a  scene. 

"Let  mam  do  as  she's  a  mind  to,"  said 
John. 

"I  ken  mend  your  dress,  while  you  put  up 
a  snack  of  ash  pone,"  said  Mrs.  Dean;  "so 
be  spry,  an'  git  off." 


44  THE   POOR   -SVinTE. 


"TMiat  shall  I  do  for  a  bonnit,  mam?"* 
asked  Lottie. 

"  I  shall  let  3'ou  wear  my  nice  shaker-bon- 
nit,  jist  this  time  ;  but  you'll  be  careful  of  it, 
I  know,  an'  bring  it  back  safe ; "  and  the 
mother  smiled  as  she  said  it,  keeping  her 
needle  %ing  the  while.  The  shaker  was 
purchased,  years  before,  of  a  slave  woman  on 
a  neighboring  plantation,  and  had  been  kept 
hung  up  m  the  corner  of  the  cabin.  This 
mother,  like  others,  took  delight  in  bestowing 
her  own  things  on  her  daughter. 

"There,  mother,  how  do  I  do?"  asked 
'Lottie,  looking  into  her  mother's  eyes  for 
lack  of  a  mirror. 

"Look,  honey?"  returned  the  fond  mother, 
"I  never  seed  you  look  better  in  my  life. 
You  looks  neat  as  a  daisy,  if  it  is  your  own 
mother  that  sa^'s  it." 

"Mam's  crows  are  jist  the  whitest,"  said 
Tomtit,  in  his  o\\-n  droll  way. 

"  Good-by  to  you,"  said  Lottie,  starting  out 
of  the  door ;  "  I'm  gwine." 


BETTY   dean's    COWHIDE    BOOTS.  45 

"So   soon!"   said   Tomtit;    "I  aiuf  half 
ready  to  have  you  go." 

"See  here,  Lottie,"  said  the  mother,  with 
tears  in  her  eyes  ;  "  we  must  take  the  goat  to 
pastur',  au'  we  may  as  well  go  with  you  a 
piece.  Tomtit,  untie  Sam's  goat  an'  lead  it 
along ;  "  and  the  mother  started  out  to  give 
Lottie  her  last  instructions.  The  flither  had 
by  this  time  finished  his  ash  pone  and  but- 
ter-milk, and  hastened  after  them,  while  the 
children  and  the  goat  brought  up  the  rear. 

The  parting  came  at  length,  and  poor  Lot- 
tie went  on  her  way  alone,  with  fewer  tears 
than  her  mother  shed,  who  sent  her  forth  with 
her  prayers  and  blessing. 

"I  don't  understand,"  said  Mr.  Dean  to  his 
wife,  "why  it  wouldn't  have  done  jist  as  well 
to  saunt  one  of  the  boys,  John  or  Tomtit,  in- 
stead of  Lottie."  It  was  his  way  to  make 
objections  when  it  was  too  late;  his  wit 
"  like  the  Dutchman's,"  came  afterwards. 

"  Them  are  boys  is  boys,"  replied  the  wife  ; 
"theyhaint  got  no  judgment.      But  Lottie, 


46  THE  POOR  WHITE. 


she's  a  very  prudint  gal ;  she'll  do  jist  as 
well  as  I  could  myself;  "  and  the  father  had 
no  more  to  say. 

Leaving  the  Deans  returning  to  their  cabin, 
and  Lottie  hastening  after  Sam,  barefoot  and 
alone,  with  a  bundle  containing  the  much- 
prized  cowhide  shoes,  and  a  snack  of  ash 
pone,  let  us  look  after  Sam,  for  it  will  take 
the  sister's  nimble  pace  some  time  to  over- 
take him. 


V. 

The  Kidnapper  in  nis  Hiding-place. 

I^AYING  reached  Turner's  Cross  Roads, 
Workfork  turned  and  took  a  north- 
eastern route  toward  the  Dismal  Swamp,  in 
the  outskirts  of  which  was  his  slave  rendez- 
vous. This  change  of  direction  was  made 
i:)artly  to  avoid  pursuit.  Urging  on  his 
horses  until  ten  o'clock,  he  came  to  a  tavern, 
—  a  low  drinking  hole — where  he  stopped  and 
got  refreshments  for  himself  and  horses,  not 
allowing  those  in  the  carry-all  to  get  out,  lest 
they  should  betray  him.  He  also  got  a  sup- 
ply of  corn  bread  and  bacon  for  the  use  of 
his  stolen  goods.  Starting  the  next  morning 
before  light,  he  made  a  distance  of  sixty  miles 
that  day,  resting  his  horses  in  the  shade  at 
noon,  and  suffering  the  slaves  to  get  out  of 
the  carry-all,  one  by  one,  and  stretch  their 


48  THE   POOPw   ^yHITE. 


limbs.  So  fearful  was  he  of  pursuit,  however, 
that  he  soon  started  and  made  all  the  haste 
possible.  The  evening  twilight  of  the  third 
day  was  coming  on,  when  they  approached 
the  swamp  region.  The  soil  was  rich,  being 
miry  bogs  of  decayed  vegetation.  Here  and 
there  a  cornfield  had  been  lately  reclaimed 
from  the  wilderness  of  swamp  land  by  drain- 
ing,  and  the  lofty  stalks  of  the  grain  stood  thick 
and  dense  like  serried  ranks  of  trees.  The 
beautiful  tasselled  army  held  firm  footing  in 
the  rich  loam  and  muck  of  which  the  soil  was 
composed.  Huge  rows  of  uptorn  stumps, 
bristling  with  pronged  roots,  enclosed  the 
road  which  passed  across  the  verge  of  the 
swamp  for  miles,  being  mostly  built  on  logs 
and  rails.  The  jaded  horses,  as  they  entered 
the  wood,  were  in  no  mood  to  be  met  by 
hosts  of  hungry  dragon-flies,  which  started  up 
from  their  2:reen  beds,  thirstins^  for  a  drink  of 
blood.  At  the  same  instant,  large,  ravenous 
mosquitoes,  which  had  been  lying  in  wait  all 
day,  made  a  rush,  and  attacked  the  inmates 


KIDNAPPER   IN   HIS   HIDING-PLACE.  49 

of  the  carry-all.  Rafe  and  Sam  had  as  much 
as  they  could  do  to  defend  themselves.  The 
hungry  insects  singled  out  Hal  and  Frank  as 
special  favorites,  and  Chainy  was  fully  occu- 
pied in  brushing  them  off.  Hal  disdained  to 
cry  when  bitten ;  but  baby  Frank  hid  his  head 
in  Chainy's  bosom  and  sobbed  out  his  grief* 
Poor  little  fellow !  homesick  and  tired  out 
with  his  long  journey,  he  knew  not.  what  to 
make  of  his  new  troubles. 

Chainy's  heart  yearned  over  him,  longing 
to  return  him  to  his  home.  She  dearly  loved 
both  the  children,  but  felt  her  pity  stirred 
most  for  the  younger. 

"  Nuffin'  but  an  infant  baby,"  said  she  to 
herself ;  "  poor  little  ting !  "  and  she  bore 
him  clasped  in  her  arms  all  that  long,  long 
ride.  How  many  times  he  sobbed  himself  to 
sleep  with  his  arms  twining  her  neck !  The 
fierce  Workfork  had  so  frightened  him  that 
he  had  learned  not  to  cry  aloud,  and  it  was 
with  smothered  sobs  that  he  told  his  heart- 
breaking troubles  to  faithful  Chainy.     She, 


50  THE   POOR  WHITE,      ^t^ 

good,  kind,  and  patient  as  the  summer's  day, 
kissed  him,  smoothed  his  pretty  curly  head, 
looked  lovingly  into  his  tearful  eyes,  and 
clasping  him  to  her  bosom,  again  and  again 
soothed  him  to  sleep.  Already  she  was  his 
foster-mother,  and  in  her  heart,  so  long  be- 
reft of  her  own  children,  there  sprang  up  ten- 
drils of  affection,  firm  and  strong  as  in  her 
youth,  and  fastened  on  the  dear  little  child. 
Oh,  wonderful  love,  that  heals  both  giver  and 
receiver,  dark,  indeed  were  this  earth  with- 
out thy  life-giving  presence  ! 

Hal,  a  spoilt  child,  was  never  half  as  inter- 
esting as  now.  The  long  ride  had  made  him 
fully  acquainted  with«Chainy,  and  whenever 
Workfork  could  not  hear  him,  he  would  pour 
out  his  full  heart,  making  her  his  confidant. 

"  Dat  bad  man,"  whispered  he,  "  God  don't 
love  him ;  he  done  dressed  me  up  in  dese  sher 
old  duds.  I  aint  gwine  to  wear  'em,  I  aint. 
I'll  tear  'em  off  and  run  away,  I  will.  I'll  tell 
you  what  I'se  gwine  to  do.  Aunt  Chainy ;  I'se 
'most  a  man,  you  know,  an'  when  I  gits  to  be 


KIDNAPPER  IN  HIS  HIDING-PLACE.  51 


a  sure-nuff  man,  I'se  gwine  to  take  you  an 
Frank  an'  run  off!  Will  I  be  black  man 
when  I  grows  up,  Aunt  Chainy?" 

"  No,  dat  you  wont,  honey,"  whispered  she ; 
"you'll  be  des  as  white  as  de  lily." 

"  You'll  wash  all  dis  sher  black  off  when 
we  gets  clar;  wont  you,  aunty?"  said  the 
child. 

"  Dat  I  will,  rapid,"  was  the  kind  response. 

As  the  darkness  drew  on,  Sam,  who  had 
overheard  this  conversation,  noticed  that  Hal 
nestled  clos(?r  to  Chainy.  He  had  taken  a  great 
fancy  to  him,  he  was  so  like  his  own  little 
brother  Tomtit,  and  he  felt  glad  to  see  her 
brush  off  the  mosquitoes,  and  give  him  a 
mother's  care.  As  for  himself,  he  cared  little 
for  mosquitoes  or  present  discomfort ;  the 
great  thought  with  him  was,  Where  will  the 
man  carry  us  ?  He  was  mostly  troubled  with 
the  thought  that  some  dreadful  fate  awaited 
them. 

At  last,  Workfork  stopped  his  horses  in 
the  gloomy  shade  of  a  monarch  cypress,  under 


52  THE    POOR   ^\TIITE. 

which  logs  of  fallen  timber  were  scattered, 
and  promised  a  footing  from  the  oozy  soil. 
On  a  sandy  knoll,  some  twenty  rods  distant, 
was  a  deserted  negro  cabin,  quite  hidden  from 
the  road  by  a  tangled  luxuriance  of  bamboo, 
briers,  and  brushwood.  In  days  gone  by, 
before  the  step  of  civilization  had  so  far  in- 
vaded the  wild,  this  had  been  the  abode  of 
fugitives  from  unpaid  labor  ;  ilDw  they  pene- 
trated deeper  into  the  almost  inaccessible 
wilderness.  After  incredible  labor,  the  party 
reached  the  cabin. 

"Wall,"  said  Workfork  aloud  to  himself, 
for  he  could  not  be  supposed  to  consult  with 
Chainy,  "  this  are  cabin'll  do  to  stable  the 
bosses,  an'  I  can  hide  the  carriage  in  the 
bushes.  I  must  push  in  further  with  my 
gang,  though,  fur  the  fire  to  keep  off  the 
'skeeturs'll  betray  me  if  I'm  so  near  the  high- 
way." 

He  then  ordered  Sam  and  Eafe  to  help  him 
get  the  horses  and  carriage  to  the  hut.  This 
was  no  easy  matter,  but  not  as  impracticable 


KIDNAPPER   IN   HIS   HIDING-PLACE.  53 

as  appeared,  as,  in  preparing  the  laud  for  corn, 
not  far  distant,  deep  ruts  had  somewhat 
drained  the  swamp  between  the- road  and  the 
cabin  ;  besides,  a  sand  ridge  lay  in  that  di- 
rection. It  was  necessary  to  cut  down  or 
bend  the  undergrowth  to  make  a  passage. 
Leaving  Chainy  with  the  little  boys  in  the 
cabin,  Workfork  and  the  two  lads,  Sam  and 
Rafe,  fell  to  work,  clearing  a  road  for  the 
vehicle. 

The  cabin  was  a  dreary,  dilapidated  place, 
with  no  fire,  food,  or  comforts ;  but  it  was  a 
shelter,  and  as  Chainy  sat  down  in  one  corner 
still  holding  baby  Frank,  and  Hal  nestling 
close  beside  her,  she  was  thankful  for  even 
this.  As  soon  as  the  slave-driver  was  out  of 
hearing,  Hal  asked  her  if  it  wouldn't  be  a 
good  plan  for  him  to  run  away.  "  I'se  most  a 
man  now.  Aunt  Chainy,  an'  I'll  take  you 
an'  Frank  with  me." 

Chainy  told  him  that  they  had  had  no  sup- 
per, and  the  night  was  so  dark  that  they 
would  get  mired  in  the  swamp. 


54  THE   POOR   WHITE. 


"No,  no,  honey;  'taint  time  yit ; "  and  he 
felt  her  loving  hand  twining  his  flaxen  curls  ; 
but  he  looked  in  vain  to  see  her  kind  old  face. 

"It's  mighty  dark,  Aunt  Chainy ;  aint  it?" 
murmured  he,  pressing  closer  to  her  side, 
and  resting  his  head  on  her  arm. 

"  Dat  'tis,  honey ;  but  don't  you  be  afeerd  ; 
de  Fader,  he'll  take  care  on  us."  • 

"  Can  God  see  us  now  ?  "  asked  Hal. 

"  Yis,  honey ;  he  see  us  all  de  time.  Tears 
like  it  never  dark  to  him,"  said  Chainy. 

"  Does  God  want  to  have  us  slaves  ?  "  asked 
the  boy. 

"No,  darlin',  dat  he  don't,"  replied  Chainy. 
"  He  dat  good  and  kind  —  why,  he's  de  Fader 
in  heaven !  " 

"  I  wish  he'd  make  us  free,  den,"  said  Hal. 

"  Wall,"  replied  Chainy,  "  we'll  keep  prajdn' 
and  prayin',  an'  I  reckon  he'll  hear  us,  an' 
help  us  git  free.  I  can't  bar  to  think  such 
an  infant  baby  as  you  an'  little  Frank  is 
should  be  slaves.  It'll  kill  you,  poor  little 
tings  !     An'  how  your  poor  fader  an'  moder'U 


KIDNAPPER  IN  HIS  HIDING-PLACE.  55 

mourn  for  ye  !  It's  like  I  can't  help  thinkin' 
on  'em,  when  I  'members  how  my  heart  done 
brok't  in  half  when  my  poor  Trolo  was  lost, 
an'  perished ! "  and  the  slave-woman's  voice 
failed  her,  as  the  fountain  of  her  grief  burst 
forth  afresh,  and  she  wept  as  she  had  not  for 
years.  Heart-rending  it  was  to  Hal  for  her 
to  cry  so,  and  he  hung  on  her  neck  and  cried 
too,  and  begged  her  to  stop. 

"  He  was  'most  a  man,  and  he'd  be  her  boy, 
and  tako  care  of  her,  and  nobody  shouldn't 
hurt  her,  that  they  shouWn't  I  " 

But  the  burst  of  grief  for  her  long-lost 
child  was  a  i-elief  to  the  desolate  mother.  So 
many  long,  long  years  had  passed  when  she 
could  not  weep,  a  burning  anguish  drying  up 
the  fountain  of  her  tears,  and  it  was  only  the 
love  and  care  of  these  children  that  had  given 
her  the  blessed  relief  of  weeping  at  the  re- 
membrance of  her  own"  cruel  wrongs.. 

Hal  soon  fell  asleep,  and  Chainy  was  lifting 
her  heart  in  silent  prayer  to  the  great  Source 
of  all  comfort  and  consolation,  when  she  was 


56  THE   POOR  WHITE. 


interrupted  by  the  startling  tones  of  Work- 
fork. 

"  Halloa,  Chainy  !  Why  don't  you  light  a 
fire?"  with  an  oath.  He  knew  very  well 
that  she  had  no  means  of  doing  it ;  but  he  was 
in  the  mood  for  finding  fault  about  something. 
"  Come,  Sam,  come,  Rafe,  you  lazy  niggers, 
stir  yourselves,  and  let's  have  a  light !  "  He 
then  looked  round  for  a  pine-knot  and  struck 
a  light,  and  leading  the  horses  to  the  cabin, 
with  the  aid  of  the  lads,  drew  the  carriage 
into  the  bushes,  and*  covered  it  with  gi'een 
boughs.  It  was  getting  late  in  the  evening 
when  this  was  done,  and  all  were  as  yet  sup- 
perless .  Workfork  had  taken  a  dram  of  brandy 
fr(5m  a  bottle  he  carried  in  his  pocket,  and 
worked  and  scolded  hard  on  the  stimulant. 
Having  baited  his  horses  from  a  bag  of  oats  in 
the  carriage,  and  taking  a  hurried  "  snack"  or 
lunchepn  from  the  box,  he  started  off  with  his 
"  effects  "  for  a  more  secure  hiding-place.  He 
was  disappointed  in  not  meeting  his  partner, 
Mr.  Sniper,  at  the  cabin,  and  as  he  picked 


KIDNAPPER   IN   HIS   HIDING-PLACE.  57 


his  way  with  his  forlorn  company,  he  diversi- 
fied his  talk  with  frequent  oaths,  because  he 
had  failed  to  appear. 

They  advanced  slowly ;  for  what  with  the 
darkness,  only  rendered  visible  by  the  pine- 
knot,  and  the  innumerable  fire-flies, —  what 
with  the  black  mud-holes,  spongy  bogs  hidden 
by  mats  of  tangled  reeds,  ferns,  and  briers, 
and  what  with  thorny  thickets,  it  was  a  mar- 
vel that  they  made  any  progress. 

Some  one  of  them  was  floundering  in  the 
plashes  every  few  moments.  At  length  they 
reached  the  sandy  ridge  that  ran  through  this 
part  of  the  swamp,  and  stopped  to  breathe 
and  shake  ofl*  some  of  the  mud  and  water,  for 
they  were  mostly  besmeared. 

Workfork  swore  at  "  the  swamp  and  its 
fixings  "  in  his  fiercest  manner.  Chainy  who, 
from  sitting  on  the  cold  ground,  and  from  her 
long  exposure,  sufiered  much  from  rheuma- 
tism, wearied  and  faint,  sank  to  the  ground, 
unable  to  carry  Frank  any  further. 

"Halloa!"   shouted   Workfork,    "up   with 


58  THE   POOR   WHITE. 

you  !  Come,  if  you  make  a  fuss  toting  that 
are  light  thing,  I'll  let  you  try  Hal's  heft. 
D'ye  hear  ?  Up  with  ye  !  "  and  he  gave  her  a 
brutal  kick.  Chainy  groaned,  but  did  not  at- 
tempt to  rise. 

"Look  here,  old  woman,"  said  the  driver, 
"  you  takes  a  mighty  likin'  to  that  are  young 
un ;  now,  if  you  makes  any  bones  'bout 
totin'  him,  I'll  stick  his  head  in  the  fust 
puddle.  He  aint  much  'count,  noway,  an'  I 
wouldn't  mind  sinkin'  a  hundred  dollars  in  the 
mud  Avhen  it  was  in  the  shape  of  a  squallin' 
young  un  !  So  you  better  be  movin',  if  you 
want  to  save  him  from  a  mire-hole  to-night. 
I'll  throw  him  in,  I  declar,  if  you  don't  git 
up  ! "  and  the  inhuman  wretch  stepped  for- 
ward and  caught  Frank  from  Chainy's  arms. 
She  roused  herself  by  an  almost  superhuman 
effort,  and  slowly  getting  up,  exclaimed,  — 

"  Oh,  don't  kill  him  —  don't,  massa  !  I'll 
do  all  I  ken,  but  I'se  dat  worn  out." 

"  Worn  out !  I  knows  that,"  replied  the 
hardened   man ;   "  I    bought    you  for  worn- 


KIDNAPPER  IN  HIS   HIDING-PLACE.  59 


out,"  —  he  kidnapped  her.  "All  pertence 
though.  I've  found  out  you've  some  strength 
left,  an'  I  mean  to  use  it.  Here,  take  the  child, 
an'  let  me  see  no  more  of  your  performances. 
I'll  stick  the  child  in  a  mud-hole,  if  you  do. 
An'  when  you  do  give  out  for  good,  I'm 
gwine  to  leave  you  to  die  in  the  blackest 
water  I  can  find  in  the  swamp.  K  Sam  and 
Rate  don't  behave,  I'll  put  them  in  too." 

The  lads  quaked  with  fear  at  the  threats  of 
the  iron-hearted  man,  aijd  were  ready  to  crouch 
like  whipped  dogs  to  do  his  bidding. 

"  'Long  with  ye  !  "  shouted  the  master ;  "  be 
movin',  every  hoof  on  ye  !  "  and  shortly  they 
reached  a  snug  little  cabin,  hidden  in  pines 
and  junipers,  built  long  before  by  voluntary 
exiles  from  slavery,  and  forsaken  for  a  more 
distant  retreat. 

Dried  leaves  on  the  cabin  floor,  served  the 
company  for  beds ;  but  wet  and  weary,  they 
were  glad  of  even  these,  slUd  of  a  shelter  from 
the  chilly  night  air. 

Fresh   swarms  of  bloodthirsty  mosquitoes 


60  THE    POOR   WHITE. 


continued  to  attack  them,  and  sleep  was  out 
of  the  question.  Accordingly,  Sam  and  Rafe, 
obeying  orders,  soon  had  a  fire  blazing  in 
front  of  the  bushes  which  hid  the  entrance  of 
the  cabin,  and  piling  on  dry  pine  boughs, 
which  lay  thickly  scattered  around,  they  had 
leave  to  lie  down  and  rest,  but  were  forbidden 
to  sleep,  or  let  the  fire  go  down,  under  pen- 
alty of  dreadful  punishment. 

Workfork  took  to  his  brandy-bottle  till 
dead  drunk.  Chainy,  who  had  been  sitting 
by  the  fire  drying  her  own  and  the  children's 
clothes,  hearing  his  heavy  breathing,  went  in, 
and  curled  down  on  the  leaves,  in  a  corner 
of  the  hut,  with  Frank  and  Hal  beside  her. 
While  the  children  slept,  she  was  wakeful  and 
anxious.  She  feared  her  strength  would  fail 
her,  and  his  horrid  threat  be  executed.  What 
could  she  do  to  save  the  darlinsr  children? 

She  feared,  too,  in  her  motherly  care  for 
Sam  and  Rafe,  thftt  they  would  sleep,  and 
often  the  faithful  woman  rose  to  replenish 
the  fire,  the  lads  being  unable  to  keep  uwake. 


KIDNAP PEK  IN  HIS   HrOING-PLACE.  61 

Hour  after  hour,  the  busy  brain  of  the 
slave-woman  was  hard  at  work.  She  fancied 
the  children  were  feverish,  and  that  they 
would  be  sick.  At  last  her  determination 
was  taken.  She  would  make  the  attempt  to 
do  something  for  them.  It  was  already  near 
midnight,  and  praying  God  to  help  her,  she 
arose  to  execute  her  plan. 

She  had  heard  that  a  part  of  this  extensive 
region  was  a  safe  retreat  for  those  escaping 
from  servitude ;  she  could  but  die,  at  the 
worst,  and  why  should  she  not  try  to  escape? 


YI. 

The  Man  with  the  Gun.     The  Escape. 

O  slave  on  the  plantation  to  which 
Chainy  belonged  was  more  comely 
than  she  in  her  younger  years.  Her  cheerful, 
hopeful  temperament  brightened  the  burdens 
of  her  slave  lot,  but  maturer  life  brought  in- 
creasing sorrow.  Her  husband,  after  being 
beaten  almost  to  death  by  the  overseer,  fled  to 
the  Great  Swamp,  whither,  to  escape  from  the 
brutality  of  the  same  task-master,  she  at- 
tempted to  follow  with  her  boy  Trolo.  She 
was  recaptured  and  put  to  torture,  and  from 
that  hour,  when  she  heard  that  Trolo  was 
shot,  hope  died  out  in  her  heart,  and  she  sank 
down  to  a  premature  and  sorrow-crushed  old 
age.  Smiles  seldom  ever  lighted  up  her 
wrinkled  visage,  no  expectation  of  coming 
good  in   this  world  gilded  the  sombre  clouds 


THE   MAN  WITH  THE   GUN.  63 


that  shadowed  her  pathway.  She  had  toiled 
on  through  long  years,  bearing  every  indigni- 
ty, hopeless  and  aimless,  never  getting  cour- 
age to  make  a  second  attempt  at  freeing  her- 
self from  the  heavy  yoke.  But  now,  within  a 
few  hours,  she,  so  old  alld  feeble,  with  no  kin 
to  live  for,  had  had  the  depths  of  her  nature 
stirred,  by  seeing  those  helpless  children 
threatened  with  slavery  and  death ;  she — dear, 
disinterested  heart !  —  would  save  them  if  it 
cost  her  her  life. 

How  she  feared,  if  she  tried  to  get  them 
free,  that  Workfork  would  pursue  and  retake 
them.  Oh !  he  seemed  the  great  and  only 
obstacle  in  the  way  of  success.  It  was  not 
the  quagmires  and  sloughs  that  she  dreaded 
— not  the  limber  snakes  and  slimy  things, 
nor  the  shaggy  wild  beasts  of  the  woods; 
it  was  a  fellow-being  I  As  she  stood  over 
him  gazing  at  his  flushed  features,  by  the  fire- 
light flickering  through  the  evergreens,  the 
horrid  temptation  entered  her  heart  to  stran- 
gle him ! 


64  THE   POOR   WTIITE. 


There  was  a  strong  cord  daDgling  from  his 
pocket,  and  as  she  drew  it  out,  his  knife  and 
tinder-box  came  with  it.  To  strangle  him 
would  be  but  the  work  of  a  moment,  and 
then  four  lives  would  be  saved,  —  four  lives 
worth  far  more  than^his,  for  he  only  lived  to 
do  evil.  Would  it  not  be  doing  a  good  deed 
to  Idll  such  a  monster  ?  "What  had  she  not 
suffered  from  his  cruelty,  and  what  might  she 
not  still  suffer  ere  death  came  to  her  relief? 

Chainy's  heart  was  hardening  to  stone. 
She  would  kill  the  fiend  in  human  sliape  ;  and 
stooping  down,  began  to  fit  the  slip-noose  she 
had  made  in  the  cord  around  his  neck.  He 
was  still  in  deep  and  heavy  slumber.  She 
began  to  draw  the  cord ;  in  a  moment  more 
he  would  be  in  eternity.  A  sudden  thought 
stopped  her ;  her  hand  fell  powerless  by  her 
side.  "Once  this  bad  man  had  a  mother,  and 
she  loved  him  as  I  loved  my  boy.  Chainy 
can't  kill  him,  for  his  mother  loved  him  I" 
and  the  kind-hearted  woman  shed  tears. 

"Poor  soul !  he  aint  ready  to  die  3'et,"  she 


CHAIN  Y'S   TEMPTAT10>.      'uge  65. 


THE   MAN   WITH   THE   GUN.  65 

said  to  herself;  "how  can  I  kill  hiin  when  he'd 
go  straight  to  torment'?  No,  no,  Chainy  can't 
do  dat !  While  dere's  life,  clere's  hope,  an' 
p'r'aps  his  mother  prayed  for  him,  an'  he  may 
repent  an'  be  an  angel  in  heaven  I  Eeckon 
he  will.  O  Fader,  make  him  sorry  for  his 
sins  !     May  de  Lord  forgive  him  I 

"  I  can't  take  de  vengeance  in  my  hands  ;  I 
can't  stain  my  soul  with  blood ;  I'll  trust  de 
Fader,  dat  I  will ! "  As  she  arose  from  her 
knees,  she  took  the  cord,  knife,  and  tinder- 
box  and  put  them  in  her  pocket.  But  as  she 
went  out  the  door,  to  arouse  Sam  and  Rafe, 
she  was  startled  by  seeing  a  man  with  a  gun 
beside  the  cabin. 

"I'll  not  harm  ye  ! "  said  he,  in  a  low  voice, 
evidently  having  been  a  witness  of  her  temp- 
tation. "I'm  a  soldier,  jist  left  Jeii''s  army. 
They  forced  me  to  'list.  Ye  see  they  wants 
us  to  kill  the  Yankees,  by  hook  or  by  crook, 
an'  keep  'em  from  takin'  Norfolk,  an'  I  don't 
jistly  know  what  to  believe,  whar  so  much  is 
gwiue.    I'se  bound  to  jine  the  party  that  beats 


Q(i  THE   POOR   WHITE. 

when  the  war  is  over,  an'  I  reckons  it'll  be 
the  Yankees.  An'  I  has  a  little  business  that 
takes  me  across  the  swamp.  So  you  see, 
aunty,  I'm  bound  to  help  you  on  a  piece,  if 
I  bees  in  such  a  ravin'  hurry ; "  for  he  seemed 
instinctively  to  understand  her  plans  of  es- 
cape. 

"  De  Lord  saunt  you  !  "  said  Chainy,  won 
by  his  frank  manner.  ''Is  you  a  secesh  sol- 
dier?" 

''  I  don't  know  much  about  it,  aunty,"  re- 
plied the  soldier ;  "  but  as  near  as  I  ken  make 
out,  I'm  a  Union  man  what  wont  fight  fur 
slavery.  Ye  see,  aunty,  you  slaves  an'  we 
poor  whites  is  in  awful  straits ;  it's  tough  to 
tell  which  is  wussest  off.  We've  been  down 
so  long,  a  change  can't  make  us  wuss  off;  it's 
my  mind,  when  the  Yankees  straightens 
things,  we  shall  take  our  turn,  an'  be  top 
buckets  of  the  wheel,  for  ev'ry  dog  has  his 
day,  an'  we  haint  had  ourn." 

"  Why  hi !  "  whis^^ered  Chainy,  stepping 
farther   from   the   cabin,  "  dish  sher  aint  de 


THE    MAN    A\1TII    THE    GUN.  67 


Yankees'  war,  nor  de  secesh  war ;  clis  is  de 
Lord's  war." 

"  I  reckon  you're  right,"  said*  the  soldiery 
"but  what's  de  use  of  lightin'  in  de  dark?  I 
mought  kill  my  friend  when  I  didn't  mean  to. 
But  if  you  is  in  trouble,  Will  Forbes  will  help 
you  all  he  can.". 

Chaiuy  was  grateful  to  find  a  friend  when 
she  so  much  needed  one ;  and  drawino-  hiiu 
beside  the  fire,  briefly  told  him  of  the  events 
of  the  past  few  days  and  of  her  desire  to  es- 
cape with  the  little  ones.  The  deserter  en- 
tered fully  into  her  plans,  ofiering  to  carry 
one  of  the  children,  and  to  aid  all  he  could, 
as  long  as  their  route  lay  in  the  same  direc- 
tion. 

It-  was  no  small  matter  to  get  Sam  and  Rafe 
fully  awake ;  but  when  they  comprehended 
her  purpose,  and  who  was  to  go  with  them, 
all  at  once  their  faculties  brightened  up,  and 
they  were  ready  to  go. 

"  I'se  in  for  anything  'cept  to  be  a  slave  !  " 
said  Sam.     "  Come,  let's  be  gwine  !  " 


6S  THE   POOR  WHITE. 


"  Yes,  indeed,  an'  double  indeed  !  "  said 
Rafe,  "let's  be  gwine  !  I'se  all  ready  !  "  and  he 
danced  up  and  down  in  great  glee. 

*•  Oh,  hush,  darlin' !  "  said  Chainy,  putting 
her  hand  on  his  shoulder ;  ^'you'll  wake  massa 
an'  den  dere'll  be  no  gittin'  clar  !  "  Eafe  was 
still  as  a  mouse  at  this  thought. 

"Xow  we  must  take  de  chil'en  in  de  cabin," 
said  Chainy;  "  dere's  no  gwine  widout  'era. 
The  stranger,  he'll  tote  Hal,  if  Sam  an'  Eafe 
will  take  turns  with  me  in  totin'  the  infant 
baby."  Saying  this,  she  noiselessly  entered 
the  hut,  and  wrapping  the  ]>abe  in  her  linsey- 
woolsey  apron,  gave  him  to  Rafe,  and  in  a 
moment  more  appeared  with  Hal,  Avhom  she 
put  in  the  soldier's  arms,  and  the  party  set 
out,  but  as  suddenl}'  made  a  halt. 

"  Has  the  old  man  there  got  a  gun  ?  "  asked 
the  strano'er. 

"  Yes,  dat  he  has  !  "  replied  Chainy  ;  and 
Sam,  taking  the  hint,  ran  back  and  got  it. 

Chainy 's  heart  was  filled  with  thankfulness, 
for  the  deliverance  from  her  dreadful  tempta- 


THE   MAjS   with   TlIE    GUN.  69 


tion,  and  for  the  timely  aid  of  the  stranger, 
which  she  felt  was  kmdly  ordered  of  God. 
Inspired  with  conrage,  her  step  was  almost  as 
elastic  as  in  days  gone  by.  She  insisted  on 
"toting  "Frank,  she  felt  so  mnch  better,  she 
said.  But  the  lads  obstinately  refused,  and 
tripped  along  beside  her,  carrying  him  by 
turns.  They  were  in  high  spirits, — a  little 
excited  with  fear,  but  more  with  the  hope  of 
escape. 

"  I  reckons  we'll  git  clar  dish  time  ! "  said 
Chainy,  as  she  hurried  through  the  short 
grass  of  the  ridge,  now  damp  with  dew. 

"I  reckon  so,"  said  the  soldier;  ''if  the 
trader  comes  after  us,  I've  a  spare  bullet  for 
him.  He's  welcome  to  it,  if  he'll  take  the 
trouble  to  follow  up  and  git  it." 

"  Oh,  I  do  pray  de  Fader  dat  dere  mayn't 
be  no  blood  shed,"  said  Chainy.  The  little 
ones  still  sle^^t;  she  thought  them  less  fe- 
verish than  when  in  the  cabin. 

"I  reckon  de  air  on  dish  slier  juniper 
ridge'U   djo   'em  heaps   of  good,"   said   she; 


70  THE   POOR   WHITE. 


''  l^ears  like  it's  dat  wholesome !  de  birds 
sleejDs  out  in  de  niglit  air,  an'  dey's  nebber 
sick ! " 

Just  then  a  wbiiDpoorwill  poured  forth  his 
shrill  song,  and  Sam  said,  — 

^  This  are  swamp  is  all  alive ;  aint  it,  Aunt 
Chainy ! " 

"Dat  'tis,  honey!"  she  replied;  "lots  o' 
things  gits  a  livin'  here.  Jest  you  hear  de 
frogs  sing,  how  loud !  Dey  has  deir  little 
houses  down  in  de  mud-puddles,  —  sleeps  all 
de  day,  an'  sings  all  de  night.  Dere's  many 
slaves  would  be  glad  to  change  places  wid 
'em,  an'  lib  in  de  swamp,  like  dey  do  ! " 

"I'd  be  a  frog  lots  sooner  than  I'd  be  a 
slave  !  and  the  fust  water  I  comes  to,  I'll 
wash  this  black  off!  "  said  Sam,  spiritedly. 

"  That's  natur' ;  but  white  slaves  is  com- 
mon," said  the  soldier. 

Sam  made  no  reply,  but,  grasping  a  handful 
of  wet  grass,  began  to  rub  his  face. 

The  moon  was  now  up,  and  they  found 
quite   a  good   ]:)ath,   although   at   times   ob- 


THE  MAN  WITH  THE   GUN.  71 


structed  by  briers  and  thorny  bushes,  which 
scratched  their  skin,  and  tore  their  clothes 
unmercifully.  Yet  it  was  wonderful  what 
progress  they  made  under  that  great  stimu- 
lus, the  love  of  liberty. 


VII. 

Caught  by  the   Horns. 

HEX  the  inorniDg  broke,  they  were 
far  away  from  the  hut,  and  the  sol- 
dier told  Chaiiiy  he  thought  they  might  veii- 
tm-e  to  stop  and  rest.  As  he  put  down  Hal, 
he  said  he  was  as  heavy  as  a  bag  of  sand, 
Chain}^  had  also  taken  her  turn  in  "  toting," 
and  wearied  with  Frank,  felt  less  courage 
than  when  they  started. 

"  Do  you  think  de  slave-driver  will  be  after 
US  ?  "  she  asked  of  the  soldier. 

"I  reckon  not,"  replied  Forbes  ;  "  he's  in  a 
drunk  sleep,  ye  see,  an'  that  are  cj^Dress  over 
the  cabin  make  a  powerful  shade ;  he  wont 
naturally  find  out  it's  morniu'  till  noon." 

"But  what  shall  we  have  for  breakfast?" 
at  length  asked  Chain}',  and  she  leaned  lier 
head  against  the  thick  bushes  which  formed 

72 


CAUGHT   BY    THE  llOliXS.  73 

the  back  to  her  mossy  scat,  and  pondered  the 
matter  in  deep  perplexity.  The  lads,  Sam 
and  Eafe,  were  thinking  of  the  same  matter 
too ;  but  the  soldier,  faint  and  tired,  had  lain 
down  on  the  grass  a  little  distance  off,  and 
w^as  fast  asleep. 

"Aunt  Chainy,  what's  we  gwine  to  have  for 
breakftist?"  tremulously  asked  Sam,  just  then 
thinking  how  good  the  ash  pones  and  butter- 
milk at  the  Piny- Wood  cottage  tasted ;  and  in 
his  home  vision  seeing  his  dear,  kind  father 
sniokiug  in  the  chimney-corner,  his  mother 
chatting  glibly,  and  the  group  of  brothers  and 
sisters  around  the  table,  —  the  breakfast  so 
good,  and  they  all  so  hungry  I 

"  Oh,  dear.  Aunt  Chainy,"  he  cried,  "I  wish 
I  was  back  to  hum  this  minute  !  " 

"Dere,  dere,  don't  cry,  honey,"  replied 
Chainy,  smoothing  his  bushy  head;  "I  wish 
you  was  dere  too,  but  never  mind,  never 
mind.  Pray  to  God  when  you  is  in  strouble ; 
he'll  make  you  feel  happy.  You  is  hungry, 
honey ;  Aunt  Chainy'll  see  what  she  ken  do  to 


74  •      THE    POOR   WHITE. 


git  you  suffiu'  to  eat.  She  didivt  tote  you  off 
in  dish  sher  woody  place  to  have  you  starve, 
dat  she  didu't  I  "  and,  getting  up,  she  began  to 
look  around  for  something  to  satisfy  their 
hunger. 

'^I  makes  sure  we  ken  find  some  berries,  or 
roots,  or  wild  pertaters,  or  suffin',"  she  said, 
putting  the  best  heart  on  matters. 

"  Don't  breathe  !  "  whispered  Sam  ;  "  there's 
a  rabl^it  down  that  path  !  I'll  *  have  him  for 
breakfast ! "  and  away  went  Sam  after  the  rab- 
bit, which  was  bounding  off  at  its  accustom'ed 
speed  when  the  boy  whistled ;  at  once  the  an- 
imal stopped  and  looked  around,  and  at  the 
instant,  the  sharp  pebble  which  Sam  had 
picked  up  struck  it  in  the  head  with  such 
force  as  to  stun  it,  and  the  captor  bore  it  in 
triumph  to  Aunt  Chainy. 

"Why,  hi!"  exclaimed  she,  "you  is  de 
'markablest  boy  ever  I  see  !  You  did  that 
mos'  amiable ! " 

But  as  she  was  preparing  to  dress  it,  she 
bethousfht  herself  that  she  could  not  cook  it 


CAUGHT   BY   THE    HORNS.  75 


for  want  of  fire,  when  patting  her  hand  into 
her  pocket,  she  found  Workfork's  tinder-box 
and  knife,  which  she  now  recollected  she  had 
taken,  thinking  she  might  need  them. 

"  How  fortinate  !  "  she  exclaimed.  "  Now 
you'll  make  de  fire,  an'  I'll  cook  de  break- 
fast." 

Sam  and  Eafe  gathered  dry  boughs,  and 
striking  the  flint  till  sparks  kindled  the  tinder, 
soon  a  good  fire  was  merrily  crackling. 

At  Chainy's  suggestion,  while  she  was 
busy  getting  the  rabbit  ready,  the  boys  drove 
two  forked  sticks  into  the  ground,  a  foot 
apart,  near  the  fire.  A  stout  stick  was  laid 
horizontally  across  these,  on  which  the  game 
was  hung  when  dressed.  While  it  was  cook- 
ing, Chainy  made  her  table  ready,  stopping 
every  now  and  then  to  turn  the  game,  and  in 
due  time,  it  was  well  roasted  for  the  morning 
meal. 

The  stranger  being  called,  Chainy  and  her 
fiimily  sat  down  to  breakfast,  in  an  enclosure 
of  bushes  near  by.     With  the  soft,  clean  grass 


76  THE    POOR    WHITE. 


for  table-cloth,  large  leaves  for  plates  and 
platter,  with  berries  and  roasted  roots  for 
relish,  and  Avith  hunn'cr  for  "the  seasoniuff," 
the  food  was  delicious  and  called  forth  grate- 
ful thanks. 

"  Why,  hi !  "  exclaimed  Will  Forbes  ;  "  how 
did  this  are  come  ?     Did  it  rain  down  ?  " 

Chainy  then  told  him  of  Sam's  feat  in 
killing  the  rabbit,  which  he  heard  with  admi- 
ration. 

"  You'd  make  a  good  shot,"  said  he  ;  "why 
didn't  you  call  me  and  let  me  shoot  him  ?  " 

"  The  rabbit  wouldn't  wait,"  said  Sam, 
dryly.  "  Oh,  isn't  this  breakfast  the  best  I 
ever  eat ! "  continued  he,  eating  as  fast  as  a 
hungry  boy  could. 

"You  is  right  smart  of  a  hunter,  you  is," 
said  Chainy. 

"That's  so,"  said  the  soldier,  helping  him- 
self to  a  leg  of  rabbit. 

Breakfast  over,  the  next  thing  was  to  look 
out  for  a  place  of  safety  for  the  day.  It  was 
decided   that   they   should    continue    on   the 


CAUGHT  BY   THE   IIOIiNS.  77 


ridge  as  long  as  they  could,  as  Will  Forbes 
would  thus  be  with  and  protect  them.  He 
would  continue  with  them  until  the  ridge  met 
the  canal,  when  he  must  leave,  for  he  was  on 
a  secret  errand  that  demanded  speed. 

The  sun  was  rising  and  the  fog  too,  their 
path  lying  through  dense  clouds  of  vapor, 
exhaled  from  the  vast  swamp  pools  around 
them.  Chainy  alternated  between  hope  and 
fear ;  she  hoped  the  fog  w^ould  pass  off  and 
the  day  prove  clear,  but  feared  it  might  "  shut 
in  "  and  rain  hard ;  and  what  could  she  do  in 
the  dripping  swamp,  with  no  shelter  for  the 
children?  Then  all  she  had  ever  heard  of 
bears  and  panthers  increased  her  apprehen- 
sion, and  she  felt  that  no  time  should  be -lost 
in  seeking  a  home. 

But  how  could  they  defend  themselves  from 
the  Avild  beasts  that  infested  the  wilderness, 
even  if  they  had  a  dwelling?  She  knew  not; 
but  she  did  not  dread  the  wild-cat  and  the 
panther  s6  much  as  she  did  her  fellow-mau 
who  had  enslaved  her. 


78  THE   POOR   WHITE. 


She  had  learned,  year3  ago,  that  there  was 
a  settlement  of  her  people  in  some  part  of 
this  waste,  but  feared  she  could  not  reach 
them,  such  Avere  the  difficulties  of  the  way. 
The  ridge  could  not  much  longer  be  relied 
on,  as  they  could  be  easily  traced  and  fol- 
lowed, and  soon  they  must  strike  out  into  the 
bogs  and  mire  for  safety.  Still  they  plodded 
on,  Chainy,  Sam,  and  Kafe  carrying  little 
Frank,  and  the  soldier  lugging  Hal  on  his 
back.  By  and  by,  they  came  to  the  canal, 
and  their  soldier-friend  reluctantly  bade  them 
good-by. 

The  little  company  looked  after  him  with 
eager  eyes,  as,  after  unmooring  a  boat,  he 
rowed  down  the  canal. 

"  Why  couldn't  good  man  stay  with  us,  or 
take  us  with  him  in  his  boat  ?  "  asked  Sam. 

"I  reckon  he's  on  'portant  business  in  de 
war,"  replied  Chainy  ;  "  an'  he  can't  spend  no 
more  time  hinderin'  with  us.  I  'spect  he  am 
a  spy  for  de  Yankees." 

When  he  was  fairly  out  of  sight,  the  pil- 


CAUGHT   BY   THE   HORNS.  79 


grims  turned  upon  a  branch  of  the  sand-bar, 
to  seek  a  dwelling-place  on  some  declivity  of 
the  ridge.  Chainy  was  so  tortured  with  rheu- 
matism that  she  was  (obliged  to  rest  by  lean- 
hig  against  a  tree,  for  so  dripping  w^ere  the 
bushes  and  grass  with  dew  that  sitting  down 
was  out  of  the  question. 

"  Poor  little  Hal !  "  exclaimed  the  kind 
woman,  as  she  saw  his  bleeding  feet,  —  he  had 
lost  his -shoes  in  the  mud  the  night  before, — 
"it'll  never  do  to  have  you  spile  your  feet  iu 
this  way.  We  must  make  a  cheer  for  you  to 
ride  in.  Oh,  if  my  ole  eyes  could  jest  light 
on  some  wilier,  now,  I'd  weave  you  a  nice 
little  carriage,  right  smart  rapid  ;  dat  I  would." 

"I'll  find  some  wilier,  den,"  said  Rafe,  "I'se 
made  baskets  over  an'  offen,"  and  he  disap- 
peared in  the  underwood  that  walled  the  slope. 

"Don't  go  but  a  little  piece,"  said  Chainy, 
anxiously :  "  you'll  git  lost,  an'  dat  will  be 
strouble  indeed." 

"  I'll  break  de  bushes  as  I  goes,"  called  out 
Rafe ;  "  den  I  find  de  way  back." 


80  THE   POOR   WHITE. 

In  a  short  time,  he  returned  with  his  arms 
full  of  osiers,  and  the  sun  having  cleared 
away  the  fog,  they  seated  themselves  on  a 
log,  and  in  the  course  of  a  few  hours  they  had 
woven  a  chair,  both  light  and  strong.  This 
they  slung  on  two  bamboos  cut  for  the  pur- 
pose, and  Hal,  with  Sam  and  Rafefor  bearers, 
looked  quite  comfortable,  Chainy  having  bound 
up  his  feet  in  the  healing  leaves  of  the  dock- 
mackie. 

But  their  way  became  more  difficult. 
Hedges  of  thorny  shrubbery  had  to  be  pene- 
trated, which  tore  their  tattered  garments, 
and  scratched  their  hands  and  feet  intolerably. 
Brilliant-winged  birds,  strangely  tame,  and 
rarely  disturbed  by  human  beings,  filled  the 
air  with  blithest  melody. 

"Dish  sher  is  some  'leviation  of  our 
stroubles,"  said  Chainy;  "dese  sher  birds 
singin'  so  chirk,  it  helps  us  hope  for  de  best. 
Tears  like  dish  sher  woodsy  place  is  their  free 
country.  An'  I  pray  de  Fader  it  may  be  our 
free  country." 


CAUGHT   BY  THE   HORNS.  81 


lu  this  happy  mood  they  encamped/or  the 
night,  lying  down  under  the  bushes.  The  next 
morning,  after  a  "  snack  "  of  roots  and  ber- 
ries, they  started  on  their  journey,  Chainy 
was  wondering  what  they  should  have*  to  eat 
for  the  day,  and  lifting  her  heart  to  God  for 
help,  w^hen  all  at  once,  coming  to  an  open 
space,  they  beheld  deer  quietly  grazing.  The 
animals  raised  their  heads  in  surprise,  and 
started  off  like  wild  sheep ;  they  were  not 
much  frightened,  however,  and  occasionally 
turned  to  wonder  at  the  intruders,  Sam  pro- 
posed to  Rafe  that  they  put  down  Hal,  run 
after  the  deer,  and  try  to  catch  one. 

"If  you  must  rest  your  limbs,  have  a  run, 
den,"  said  Chainy,  as  they  started  off  in  pur- 
suit. 

They  soon  found,  however,  the  deer  made 
light  work  of  keeping  out  of  their  way,  and 
they  were  about  giving  up  the  chase  as  use- 
less, when  an  antlered  deer  was  caught  in  a 
shrubby,  gnarled  oak,  and  in  his  haste  to  get 
away,  made  sad  work  of  extricating  himself. 


82  THE   POOR   WHITE. 


He  kicked  and  plimged  and  shook  bis  horns, 
only  to  get  the  more  entangled.  The  firm 
old  tree  held  him  fast  in  its  strong  arms. 

"  Now  we  got  him  !  "  shouted  Kafe  ;  "  he's 
cotched  dish  time,  dat  is  evident.  Eun,  Sam, 
to  Aunt  Chainy,  an'  tote  de  knife  an'  de  cord ; 
'parentl}^,  we  'spatch  him  rapid  !  " 

Sam  quickly  returned  with  the  cord  and 
knife,  and  Aunt  Chainy  presently  appeared, 
bringing  Frank,  and  Hal's  chair,  while  the 
little  fellow  tried  his  feet  again.  Seating  her- 
self and  the  children  on  a  follen  pine-tree,  she 
looked  admiringly  at  the  operations  of  Sam 
and  Eafe.  The  former  having  managed  to 
climb  the  tree  by  cutting  away  some  of  the 
tough,  thicket-like  branches,  and  getting  di- 
rectl}^  above  the  deer,  succeeded  in  putting 
the  cord  over  his  neck,  by  lowering  one  end 
of  it  until  it  reached  the  ground.  Rafe  pulled 
this  end  to  himself,  by  means  of  a  long  stick, 
forked  at  the  end ;  he  then  reached  it  up  to 
Sam  on  one  of  its  extremities.  Sam  lost  no 
time  in  securing  the  noose ;  and  bracing  him- 


CAUGHT   BY   THE   HORNS.  83 

self  against  a  bough,  and  drawing  the  cord 
with  main  strength,  shortly  the  deer  was 
strangled,  despite  renewed  attempts  at  kick- 
ing and  plunging. 

"There!  what  you  think  of  that?"  asked 
Sam,  addressing  Chainy. 

"  Fader's  life  !  "  exclaimed  she  ;  "  dat  was 
done  mos'  amiable.  Now,  honey,  make  has' 
down,  an'  stick  him  in  de  throat,  to  let  de 
blood  oflf;"  and  down  came  Sam  and  did  as 
she  bade  him. 

"  Now,"  said  Chainy,  wiping  tears  from  her 
eyes,  "'pears  like  dia  sher  is  most  providency, 
sartin ;  dish  make  me  tink  we  must  go  right 
to  housekeepin'  to  onct.  Dis  sher  deer'll  make 
a  heap  of  store  of  most  amiable  ven'son,  an' 
I'se  afeered  we'll  waste  it." 

They  now  proceeded  to  dress  the  animal, 
and  roast  all  they  could  of  it.  The  tongue,  a 
delicious  morsel,  with  a  round,  made  their 
dinner. 

What  should  they  do  with  the  meat  ?     A 


84  THE   POOR   WHITE. 

part  of  it  Chainy  had  cut  into  thin  strips  and 
dried  by  the  fire. 

They  had  chosen  their  stopping-place  near 
a  spring,  which  gurgled  up,  cool  and  limpid. 

"  If  we  on'y  had  a  spring-house  like  massa's," 
said  Chamy ;  "  we  could  keep  dc  rest  of  de 
ven'son  right  smart  long  time." 

"How  did  yow  keep  meat  there?"  asked 
Sam. 

"  Oh,"  replied  Chainy,  "  we  sewed  cloth 
round  it  to  keep  it  clean ;  den,  we  dug  a  hole 
in  de  sand  where  de  water  run,  an'  covered  it 
up,  De  sand  was  dat  cool,  it  keep  de  meat 
sweet  right  smart  time." 

Sam  and  Rafe  looked  at  each  other,  and 
taking  the  hint,  went  to  the  spring  and  com- 
menced digging  a  deep  trough  in  the  sand, 
and  before  night,  they  had  the  choicest  part 
of  the  deer  buried  almost  as  safely  as  if  in 
ice. 


VIII. 

A  Consultation. 

^l^ORKFORK  slept  long  and  well  the 
^ciV^v  morning  of  the  escape  of  the  fugi- 
tives. It  was  nearly  noon  when  he  was 
awakened  by  the  entrance  of  some  one. 
But  his  eyes  were  so  weak  that  he  could  not 
get  them  open  at  once,  and  his  bones  so  stiff 
that  the  cramp  caught  him  the  moment  he 
tried  to  turn  over. 

"  Halloa,  there,  Chainy !  what  you  wake 
me  up  for,  with  your  confounded  noise,  afore 
Tm  half  done  my  nap  ?  Haint  slept  hardly  a 
wink  to-night,  you've  kept  up  sich  a  hateful 
uproar  scraping  that  kittle.     You  shall  smart 

for't,  old  gal,  see  if  you  don't !  "  and  he  con- 
tinued to  busy  himself  rubbing  open  his  eyes. 
"Halloa,   old   chap!"  called  out  the  new- 
comer, with  a  burst  of  laughter.     "It's  only 

65 


8Q  THE    POOR    WHITE. 

me ;  an'  I  don't  see  no  Chiiiny,  —  she's  ske- 
daddled, apparently." 

"  Sniper,  is  that  you  ? "  asked  Workfork, 
who,  having  solved  the  two  problems  of  get- 
ting his  eyes  open  and  turning  over,  began 
to  come  to  himself  a  little. 

"Reckon  'taint  nobody  else,"  replied  Sniper. 

"  Why  didn't  you  come  here  yesterday  ac- 
cordin'  to  'pintment  ?  "  asked  AYorkfork,  with 
an  oath. 

"  'Cause  why,  ye  see  I  had  very  important 
engagement."  The  truth  was,  being  a  poor 
white,  his  old  propensity  of  whiskey-drinking 
overcame  him,  and  he  lay  drunk  for  hours  at  a 
low  tavern,  some  two  miles  from  the  swamp. 
"Let  me  tell  you,  old  chap,  I've  got  lots  of 
news  for  yer.  Our  trade  is  up,  so  fur  as  sell- 
in'  slaves  is  consarned." 

"Don't  bleeve  a  word  you  say,"  replied 
Workfork,  rising  on  one  elbow.  "  AVHiere's 
that  jade,  Chainy,  that  she  don't  tote  m  break- 
fast?" 

"  I  haint  seen  hide  nor  hau*  on  her,"  said 
/ 


A   CONSULTATION.  87 


Sniper;   "but  that's  niither  here  nor  there; 
our  trade  is  up  if  she  war  here." 

"  Do    you   mean   we    couldn't   sell   her  ? " 
asked  Workfork. 

'*  Yes,"  replied  Sniper,  taking  a  huge  pinch 
of  snutF  from  his  vest  pocket ;  "  I  mean  to  say 
that  this  are  war  has  smashed  our  profits. 
l>Iast  it !  What's  the  use  of  its  comin'  in  our 
day?  You  know,  Workfork,  there  never  was 
sich  a  profitable  business  as  ^Ye  slave-buyers 
has  driv ;  it's  too  Inid  to  have  this  are  war 
come  an'  spile  it  all." 

"What  do  you  mean,  Sniper?  Out  with 
it." 

"  Why,  slaves  is  dog-cheap,"  replied  the 
other ;  "  an'  at  this  rate,  we  can't  give  'em 
away  in  a  little  while ;  we  shall  have  to  hire 
folks  to  take  'em  ofi*  our  hands,  and  be  glad  to 
git  shed  of  'em  at  that.  It'll  cost  more  than 
they're  wuth,  to  fodder  'em.  There's  a  story 
that  old  Abe  is  gwine  to  bring  us  to  terms 
by  'mancipatiu'  all  the  slaves  !  " 

"Pshaw!"   exclaimed  Workfork,    starting 


88  THE   POOR   WHITE. 


up ;  **  I  don't  bleeve  a  word  on*t.  Likely 
story !  It  can't  be  done,  nohow.  Lin  kin's 
uothin'  to  do  with  us;  we've  set  up  for  ur- 
selves,  an'  our  armies  is  tow  subdue  the 
North,  call  the  roll  in  a  month  under  Bunker 
Hill  Monymint,  an'  settle  slavery  in  them 
are  regions  fur  good ;  that's  what  our  armies 
is  gwine  to  do.  Slaves  cheap  !  Why,  man, 
they'll  be  up  higher  than  ever  they  was. 
They  may  go  down  a  leetle  for  a  while,  I'll 
allow ;  but  the  rise  is  sure  to  foller,  — just  as 
sure  as  we  subdue  the  North.  Don't  you  see, 
—  the  bigger  the  territory  to  be  s'plied,  the 
bigger  the  demand,  an'  the  higher  the  price? 
Why,  man,  sich  old  trash  as  this  are  Chainy 
here  —  why  the  deuce  don't  she  tote  in  the 
breakfast  ?  —  sich  trash'U  sell  fur  risin'  of  two 
thousand  dollars  a  head  !     Don't  ye  see  ?  " 

"^I  see — if  we  conquers  the  North,"  replied 
Sniper ;  "  but  that's  the  '  if  that's  right  in  the 
way.  We  don't  git  ahead  none  ;  the  Yankees 
is  cornerin'  us  every  which  way ;  an'  the  more 
soldiers  we  kills  off,  the  more  they  saunds 


A    CONSULTATION.  89 


•  down ;  we're  just  about  overrun  with  'em. 
There's  the  great  army  of  the  Potomac,  pour- 
m'  down  upon  us." 

"What  of  that?"  replied  Workfork ;  "they 
do  say  half  of  them  ginerals  an'  soldiers  is 
with  us,  an'  they'll  only  pertend  to  fight  us 
like  ;  they'll  never  do  us  any  harm.  They  do 
say  that  they'll  betray  the  North  into  our 
hands.  All  is,  if  the  trade  in  slaves  is  down, 
we  ken  quit  it  fur  a  time,  an'  dp  somethin' 
else  that  pays  better." 

"  What  under  the  canopy  can  we  do,  old 
chap  ?  I  make  sure  there  aint  nothin'  we  ken 
do ;  this  are  business  has  spilt  us  fur  every- 

thin'  else." 

"Not  by  a  big  sight,"  replied  Workfork, 
rising  and  striding  across  the  cabin  as  well 
as  his  stiiT  limbs  would  permit.  "We're  just 
the  chaps  Jeff's  government  wants ;  we  ken 
go  to  recruitin'  poor  whites, —  git  'em  into  the 
army,  —  an'  you  an'  I'll  stand  a  chance  to  be 
officers.  We  sha'n't  be  nothin'  but  officers 
from  the  fust.      I  sha'n't  start  nothin'  lower 


90  THE   POOR   WHITE. 

than  a  colonel,  an'  you'd  make  a  good  cap'n,  I 
reckon,  arter  you'd  drilled  under  me  awhile." 

"Well,"  replied  Sniper,  "that  sounds  as  if 
it  might  be  so  ;  we  mought  try  it,  at  least  — 
no  harm  in  that." 

"  But  I  must  dispose  of  these  are  slaves  I 
has  on  hand,"  added  Workfork;  "it  wont  do 
to  waste  all  this  are  property,  if  its  vally  is 
low." 

"But  where  is  they?"  asked  Sniper.  "I 
haint  seed  none  of  'em.  How  many  did  you 
ketch?" 

"Five,  all  told,"  replied  Workfork.  "I 
ketched  five.  I  call  that  doin'  business  fur  a 
short  trip.     How  many  did  you  ?  " 

"Why,  ye  see,"  replied  Sniper,  "  bein'  as 
stock  was  so  low,  I  didn't  think  'em  wuth 
the  ketchin',  an'  so  I  come  on  to  persuade 
you  to  give  up  this  are  kind  of  speculatin',  an' 
turn  your  hand  to  suthin'  that  would  pay 
better." 

"That's  curis,  anyhow,"  replied  Workfork. 
"We've  slumped  through,   all  round;  an'  if 


A   CONSULTATION.  91 

t 

them  are  servants  don't  show  'emselves  putty 
quick,  I  shall  begin  to  think  they're  'mong 
the  missing.  Shouldn't  wonder  if  somebody 
stole  'em  while  I  was  asleep ;  they  wouldn't 
have  gumption  enough  to  think  of  runnin' 
away,  on  their  own  account,  —  that  they 
wouldn't ! " 

"  Don't  know  about  that,"  said  Sniper ; 
"  they  crawl  off  when  you  wouldn't  'spect  it. 
If  on'y  we  had  a  good  hound,  we'd  fix  'em 
right  smart  quick." 

'"That's  so,"  replied  Workfork ;  "but  it 
don't  do  for  you  an'  me  to  s'port  dogs  till  we 
settles  down ;  it  costs  lots  to  keep  'em,  an' 
then  they're  alius  betrayin'  us  when  we  cian't 
help  it." 

"  What  can  we  do?  We  must  do  suthin',  " 
said  Sniper  ;  "  it  wont  do  to  rest  on  our  oars 
in  this  way." 

"Reckon  it  wont,"  returned  Workfork. 
"Wal,  I'll  tell  you  what;  we  must  foller  up 
them  are  sarvents,  an'^  ketch  'em,  sell  'em  off 
for  what  they'll  fetch,    an'  drum   up  a  regi- 


92  THE   POOR   WHITE. 


ment.  If  there's  danger  that  our  government 
can't  put  down  the  Yankees,  we'll  pull  up 
stakes  an'  help  'em.  Everything  depends  on 
putting  dowp  the  Yanks ;  oui'  trade  is  up, 
if  we  don't." 

Then  starting  out,  AVorkfork  went  to  the 
carriage-box,  and  took  a  hasty  snack,  and  the 
two  commenced  searching  for  the  runaways. 
They  were  pushing  their  way  through  bushes 
and  briers,  intent  on  recapturing  their  prey, 
when  Sniper  Avas  seized  with  a  sudden  terror, 
and  whispered,  — 

"  Hark  !     What  noise  is  that  ?  " 

"  Sho  !  "  whispered  back  Workfork  ;  ''  that's 
only  a  partridge,  drummin'  with  his  wings." 

"  I  tell  you  it's  mor'n  that,"  returned 
Sniper.  "  I  make  sure  it's  a  swamp  nigger ; 
I'd  ruther  meet  ten  ravin'  bears  than  one  of 
them  wild  critters.  They'd  pound  you  to 
jelly  in  a  big  mortar,  an'  suck  you  down 
their  big  throats  like  an  alligator.  Let's  be 
gwine." 

Workfork  was  also  a  little  nervous,  from 


A   CONSULTATION.  93 


the  effects  of  the  last  night's  hard  drinking, 
and  quite  ready  to  follow  Sniper  in  his 
double-quick  retreat.  Back,  back  they  re- 
traced their  steps,  not  slackening  their  pace 
until  they  reached  the  old  cabin  they  had  left, 
when  Workfork,  ashamed  of  the  fear  he  was 
in  danger  of  betraying  to  his  associate,  be- 
thought him  of  an  excuse  for  this  unseemly 
haste. 

"You  see,  Sniper,"  said  he,  "I  was  that 
careless,  an'  left  my  gun,  so  I've  come  back 
for't ;  "  and  he  commenced  searching  the  hut. 
*'  The  villyuns  has  done  stole  it ;  I'll  lay  they 
has  !  What's  I'se  to  do  without  any  gun  ? 
'Pears  like  we'd  better  git  out  of  this  are 
swamp  as  soon  as  we  can,  an'  buy  us  some 
guns,  an'  git  help  to  master  the  runaways ; " 
and  the  two  made  haste  to  harness  the  horses 
to  the  carriage,  and  having  gained  the  main 
road,  drove  rapidly  for  Windham  Village. 


IX. 

An  Encounter.     The  Wild  Man  of  the  Swasip. 

/jft^HAINY  and  the  lads  often  consulted  as 
V-U  to  what  should  be  done. 

"  How  long  we  got  tow  stay  here  ?  "  asked 
Sam,  still  afflicted  with  homesickness. 

"Tears  like  I  can't  tell,"  replied  the  good 
woman.  "  We  can't  'ford  to  waste  all  dat  are 
meat.  If  we  started  off  an'  left  it,  'parently 
we  temp'  Providence,  an'  we  mought  starve." 

"Butdere  aint  no  Cabin,  nor  nuffin  here," 
said  Rafe. 

"  I  know  dat,"  replied  Chainy  ;  "  but  dere's 
plenty  ob  trees  an'  bushes,  an'  we  can  make  a 
good  shelter,  an'  wait  fur  de  Lord  to  'rect  us 
when  to  travel.  He  done  saunt  us  one  ofood 
friend  to  help  us,  an'  he  can  saund  us  another 
in  his  own  good  time  ;  "  and  with  her  cheer- 
ful, childlike  foith,  she  encouraged  herself  in 

94 


AN  ENCOUNTER.  95 

God,  and  so  kind,  gentle,  and  motherly  was 
she  that  the  boys  looked  up  to  her  almost 
Avith  reverence. 

In  truth,  Chainy  and  the  little  ones  really 
needed  a  season  of  rest,  and  nothing  might  be 
gained  if  they  attempted  to  jDrogi-ess  in  the 
unknown  wild ;  they  might  meet  Workfork, 
looking  for  them.  The  good  woman  thought 
of  these  things,  and  said  that  it  was  safest  to 
look  for  a  good  hiding-place,  near  the  spring. 

"  Oh  !  "  exclaimed  Kafe,  "I  know  where  we 
can  make  us  a  wigwam." 

"  Wigwam  I  what's  that  ?  "  said  Sam. 

"Why,  hi!  don't  you  know?"  was  the 
reply.  "  Dere's  an  Indin  lives  in  a  wigwam, 
over  in  the  woods,  back  of  mother's  cabin, 
an'  I'll  lay  I  ken  make  one  des  like  it.  Come 
on,  Sam  ;  let's  find  a  place." 

Sam  followed,  asking  questions,  and  getting 
for  answer  that  it  was  a  kind  of  a  cabin,  built 
of  poles,  bark,  and  bushes.  As  Rafe  went  on 
explaining  how  it  was  made,  Sam,  compre- 
hendin<]f  it,  said, — 


96  THE   POOR   WHITE. 

"Why,  you  know,  there's  the  place  where 
the  deer  shelter  by  night ;  they  don't  come 
no  more  since  we  killed  the  old  buck." 

"  Dat's  so,"  replied  Rafe ;  and  pressing 
through  the  thick  bushes,  the  lads  came  to  a 
cleared  circular  space  around  an  oak,  which 
was  walled  in  with  underwood  and  tall  sap- 
lings. This  had  been  the  night  camping- 
ground  of  the  deer,  and  Rafe  said  it  was  a 
right  smart  good  place  for  a  wigwam. 

The  two  then  fell  to  breakinor  bousfhs  from 
the  trees,  some  little  distance  off,  and  piling 
them  near  the  centre  oak. 

"Dese  yer  will  make  mos'  amiable  roofin'," 
said  Rafe  ;  "  an'  shed  de  rain  right  smart." 

AVhen  a  sufficient  quantity  were  gathered, 
the  boys  drew  the  tops  of  the  sapling  toward 
the  trunk  of  the  tree,  and  fastened  them  to  its 
horizontal  boughs ;  they  then  hastened  to 
conduct  Aunt  Chainy  and  the  little  ones  to 
the  new  abode  which  was  so  quickly  framed 
and  roofed. 

"Why,  hi ! "  said  she,  "'pears  like  dis  sher 


AN  ENCOUNTER.  97 


will  be  uice  cabin ;  we  shall  be  safe  an'  com- 
f tabic,  dat  is  evidunt." 

"  We're  gwiue  to  make  it  des  as  good  as  a 
surc-'nuff  cabin,"  said  Eafe. 

"Can't  nobody  find  us  in  here,"  added  Sam. 

"  Dat's  so,"  said  Chainy.  "  I  reckon  de 
Fader  made  dis  yer  tree  grow  to  keep  us 
safe.  Now,  I'll  go  to  pickin'  moss  an'  leaves 
for  de  beds.  'Pears  like  d6se  yer  chilluns 
must  have  suffin'  soft  to  rest  deir  limbs  on." 

"  Oh,  Aunt  Chainy  I  "  called  out  Hal ;  "  let 
me  help  too." 

"  Dat  you  shall,"  was  the  cheerful  answer ; 
and  leaving  baby  Frank,  amused  seeing  Sam 
and  Eafe  finish  thatching  the  dwelling,  Chainy 
and  Hal  went  at  their  work.  The  little  com- 
pany were  as  happy  as  could  be  in  fitting 
up  their  temporary  home. 

"  We  ken  stiiy  here,"  said  Chainy  to  her- 
self, "  till  suffin'  better  mrns  up.  De  Lord 
is  dat  good  to  give  us  dis  sher  nice  place." 

Some  days  were  occupied  in  completing  and 
furnishing  their  abode,  which  all  the   party 


98  THE   POOR   WHITE. 

enjoyed  highly.  At  meal-time  they  repair- 
ed to  their  old  cookiug-stand,  which  they 
called  the  kitchen,  their  store  of  venison  still 
furnishing  them  with  delicious  meat. 

Chainy,  ever  pleasant  and  thoughtful, 
planned  to  have  the  children  spend  some 
time  in  play ;  and  what  with  play,  and  what 
with  getting  wood  for  the  cooking-fire  and 
adding  thatching  to  their  habitation,  they 
were  mostly  busy  and  happy.  Yet  some- 
times the  hours  wore  heavily  to  the  good  wo- 
man, for,  at  best,  this  retreat  seemed  but  tem- 
porary, and  might  be  disturbed  by  their 
worst  enemy,  Workfork. 

Were  her  fears  groundless  ?     We  shall  see. 

One  day,  when  Sam  and  Rafe  were  out 
searching  for  roots  and  berries,  suddenly  they 
came  upon  a  company  of  rough- looking  men, 
whom  they  knew  at  once  to  be  in  pursuit  of 
their  party.  The  ruffians  were  sitting  down 
on  the  grass,  eating  their  lunch  and  drinking 
from  a  bottle  which  was  freely  passed  from 
one  to  another.     As  the  boys  caught  sight  of 


AN    ENCOUNTER.  99 


them,  they  had  plainly  heard  their  voices,  and 
were  looking  rouucl  to  see  what  it  meant. 

"  Hist !  "  whispered  Workfork,  for  he  was 
the  leader  of  the  gang,  "  the  game  is  comin' ! 
Didn't  I  tell  ye  it'd  be  easy  ketchin'  'em?" 
at  the  same  time  starting  up  and  looking 
eagerly  around.  "  So,  Sniper,  you  go  that  way, 
Patrick  Conner  this  way,  an'  I'll  see  what  I 
an'  the  rest  can  do  in  the  brush ; "  and  in  a 
minute,  the  half-dozen  were  scattered  in  as 
many  directions. 

Sam  and  Eafe  had  slid  down  the  bank,  and 
hidden  under  a  thicket  of  briers.  The  sev- 
eral scouts  looked  long  and  carefully,  but  in 
vain,  and  at  length  returned  to  their  encamp- 
ment. 

"Haint  found  'em,  hey  ?  "  asked  Workfork. 
"  Stupid !  you've  let  the  rascals  slip  through 
your  fingers  ;  jingo  !  if  you  haint !  " 

"  They  didn't  slip  through^our'n,  I  reck- 
on ! "  retorted  Sniper. 

"You  shet  up,"  replied  Workfork;  "  I'se 
the   cap'n   of  this  are  comp'ny,  an'   it's   fur 


100  THE    POOR   TVTIITE. 


me  to  order,  an'  fur  you  to  obey."  Then, 
more  pleasantly,  "  Wall,  we're  on  the  trail, 
an'  we  mought  as  well  be  movin'.  As  I  said, 
gemmen,  if  we  takes  'em,  we'll  go  shares,  an' 
you'll  make  a  putty  little  foi-tin  !  " 

So  the  pursuers  started  anew,  half  going 
forward,  and  half  on  the  route  by  which  they 
had  come. 

Eafe  and  Sam,  under  the  thicket,  listened, 
eager  to  hear  their  voices,  and  judge  of  the 
direction  they  had  taken. 

"  I  reckon  they  wont  find  us,"  said  Riife, 
drawing  a  long  breath  as  the  sounds  grew 
less  in  the  distance. 

"  But  some  on  'em  is  gwine  right  whar 
Aunt  Chainy  is,"  said  Sam. 

"  Dat's  bad  !  "  repUed  Kafe.  "  What's  we'se 
to  do?" 

"  We  must  do  some  thin',"  said  Sam.  ''  It 
wont  do  to  let  ^nt  Chainy  be  hurt.  I  tell 
you,  Rafe,  I  feel  as  big  as  a  man,  an'  you  is 
'most  as  big."  • 

"  I !  "  said  Rafe  ;  "  I'se  bigger  than  you  is  ! 


AN   ENCOUNTER.  101 


I  reckon  we  can  take  care  of  Aunt  Chainy. 
Didn't  we  kill  the  old  buck?'* 

"  That  we  did,"  replied  Sam ;  and  the  two, 
starting  up  from  their  hiding-place,  directed 
their  steps  to  their  dwelling. 

It  was  nearly  noon,  and  Chainy  had  left 
Frank  asleep  on  the  moss  in  the  greenwood 
cabin,  and  was  busy  getting  dinner,  answer- 
ing Hal's  pleasant  prattle  as  she  roasted  the 
meat. 

At  the  instant  Sam  and  Kafe  came  in  siofht 
Workfork  and  two  men  appeared. 

"Blast  yer  carcass,  old  woman!"  shouted 
the  driver.  "  You've  gin  me  a  putty  chase,  an' 
I'll  show  you  what's  what !  I'll  tie  you  tow 
the  fust  tree,  an'  whale  you  within  an  inch  of 
yer  life ! " 

At  sight  of  him,  Chainy  fell  helpless  to  the 
ground,  and  little  Hal  called  out, — 

"  Go  'way,  bad  man ;  you  sha'n't  touch  my 
Aunt  Chainy." 

The  savage  kicked  him  over,  and  drawing 
out  a  cord,  was  about  to  execute  his  threat 


102  THE  POOR  WHITE. 

of  binding  the  helpless  woman  to  the  tree, 
when  one  of  his  men  said, — 

"She's  done  for't,  now.  Why  don't  you 
bring  her  to  fust  ?  " 

"Here,  you  rascal,''  cried  Workfork  to 
Sam,  "  bring  us  some  water !  " 

"I'se  nothin'  to  bring  it  in,"  said  Sam, 
coolly.     "Couldn't  you  lend  me  your  hat?  " 

"Look  here,  you  whelp,"  said  Workfork, 
"if  you  don't  bring  it  lively,  I'll  whip  you 
fiist.  I  mean  tow  dress  you  all  down  afore  I've 
done  !  "  and  he  brandished  a  cowskin,  to  give 
effect  to  his  words.  "  Off  with  you,  Rafe,  an' 
help  him  find  some  water  !  "  and  the  two  boys 
hastened  down  the  declivity,  where  flowed 
their  well-known  spring.  Meanwhile  Chainy 
slowly  opened  her  eyes,  at  which  all  the  mal- 
ice in  Workfork's  natm'e  seemed  to  be  stirred. 

"  Aint  quite  so  dead  as  you  made  believe, 
is  you,  old  jade?  Thought  3'ou  could  come 
it  over  me,  did  ye?  Wal,  ye  see  I'm  used 
to  your  tricks ,  an'  now  I'm  gwine  to  treat  you 
as  you  deserve.     I'm  gwine  to  let  ye  have  a 


AN  ENCOUNTER.         .   103 


Httle  taste  of  suthiii'  you  don't  git  every  day. 
You  done  cheated  me  out  of  my  breakfast !  ^ 
and  he  gave  her  a  smart  cut  across  her  face 
with  his  cowhide. 

"  An'  cost  us  all  this  are  traipsing  intow  the 
swamp,"  said  Sniper,  as  he  gave  her  a  blow 
with  a  stout  stick. 

"  Oh,  don't,  massa,  don't ! "  pleaded  the 
helpless  woman,  putting  up  her  hands,  as  if 
to  ward  off  the  blows. 

"  Be  done,  Sniper,"  said  the  driver,  authori- 
tatively, "  whippin'  isn't  the  work  afore  us  jest 
now.  That's  too  good  for  the  old  truck !  " 
Then  seizing  Chainy  rudely  by  the  arm,  and 
dragging  her  toward  a  tree,  he  said,  "This 
way  with  ye,  an'  you'll  have  sich  a  treat  as 
will  put  the  life  into  your  old  bones,  I'll  war- 
rant. Yer  aint  o'  much  'count,  noways,  now 
the  Yanks  has  come,  and  niggers  don't  bring 
much.  If  I  takes  ye  along  you'll  be  givin'  us 
more  strouble  than  twenty  sich  as  you  is  worth 
in  the  market,  so  I'll  jest  dispose  of  you  on 
the  spot.       I  haint  had  a  right  smart  good 


104  THE   POOR   WHITE. 


time  tormentin'  a  nigger  for  mor'n  a  year. 
Can't  aflbrd  to  let  this  opportunity  slip ;  don't 
recnr  every  day  !  " 

Then  drawing  from  his  coat  pocket  a  small 
iron  chain,  he  commenced  binding  her  to  the 
oak.  Chainy  was  almost  frozen  with  terror. 
She  could  form  no  distinct  idea  of  the  terrible 
fate  that  awaited  her  ;  but  the  murderous  light 
that  shot  from  the  driver's  ej^es,  and  the  fiend- 
ish leer  that  rested  on  his  pitiless  face,  filled 
her  with  the  fear  that  some  fell  design  pos- 
sessed her  tormentor.  Her  eyes  seemed  start- 
ing from  then*  sockets,  and  an  unearthly  pallor 
overspread  her  wrinkled  features,  making  her 
look  truly  frightful.  She  appeared  to  be 
making  endeavors  to  plead  with  him  for 
mercy ;  but  so  extreme  was  her  fear  that  the 
words  died  on  her  lips. 

Workfork  bound  her  securely  to  the  tree, 
then  turning  to  Sniper,  said,  — 

"  Xow,  old  fellar,  jest  set  them  chaps  to 
work  an'  pile  the  dry  limbs  round  the  old 
woman,  an'  w^e'U  celebrate  Fourth  of  July.'* 


AN   ENCOUNTER.  105 

Sniper  and  his  companions  did  as  they  were 
ordered,  gathering  the  loose  wood  from  the 
thickets  and  lieaping  it  around  the  victim. 
AVorkfork  assisted,  but  worked  leisurely,  as 
if  to  lengthen  out  the  suspense  of  the  object 
of  his  hate. 

"  Wont  we  warm  her  up  ?  We'll  take  the 
ager  chills  out  of  her ! "  he  exclaimed,  with 
great  satisfaction,  as  the  dreadful  prepara- 
tions went  on.  At  length  all  was  ready,  and 
the  driver,  going  to  the  spot  where  Chainy's 
cooking  fire  stiil  burned  dimly,  took  up  a 
brand,  at  first  bidding  his  subordinates  to 
do  the  same,  then  countermanding  the  order, 
saying,  — 

"  No,  no ;  this  are  sport  I  must  enjoy  all 
tow  myself!"  and  returned  to  Chainy,  and 
shaking  the  flaming  torch  before  her,  he  said, 
"Now,  old  jade,  you'll  hafter  do  more  screech- 
in'  an'  groanin'  an'  pray  in'  than  you  ever  did 
in  all  the  whippin's  you  ever  had.  You  see, 
Sniper  an'  I  is  jest  a  gwine  to  see  how  a  nig- 
ger like  you  will  look  a-roasting  ! " 


106  THE   POOR   WHITE. 

Chainy  comprehended  her  situation.  At 
first  one  piercing  sliriek  rent  the  air,  then  she 
fell  to  praying,  and  awaited  her  tormentor's 
movements  with  strange  composure.  AYork- 
fork  stoojDed  down  to  ignite  the  brush-heap  at 
its  base.  Just  then  the  sharp  report  of  a  rifle 
w^as  heard,  and  the  murderer  rolled  over  on 
the  ground,  covered  with  blood. 

It  seems  that  as  Sam  and  Rafe  loitered  by 
the  spring,  to  give  "  Aunt  Chainy  time  to  rest 
a  bit,"  as  they  expressed  it,  they  were  startled 
by  seeing  a  strange-looking  man  descending 
from  a  lofty  cypress,  and  stalking  toward 
them  with  a  gun  on  his  shoulder,  over  the 
bogs  of  the  swamp. 

"  '\Yhat's  de  strouble?"  said  he,  as  he  came 
tiear. 

"That  slave-driver  is  gwine  to  whip  Aunt 
Chainy,"  said  Sam,  softly. 

"  Aunt  Chainy  !  "  said  the  swamp-man. 
"  I'll  see  to  him  !  "  then  cautiously  approached 
Workfork  and  his  company  till  he  found  an 
opening  to  take  aim,  when  he  fired. 


AN   ENCOUNTER.  107 


Workfork  bounded  forward  Avith  a  yell 
of  anguish,  and  fell.  The  ball  had  passed 
through  his  arm,  and  lodged  in  his  side.  His 
comrades,  who  were  poor  whites,  turned  and 
fled,  and  meeting  the  rest  of  their  party  re- 
turning from  a  fruitless  search,  told  them  that 
they  were  pursued  by  a  large  gang  of  armed 
negroes,  who  had  killed  Workfork.  Sniper 
was  a  great  coward,  as  well  as  the  rest,  and 
they  now  took  to  their  heels  in  confusion, 
some  of  the  number  even  throwinfir  down 
their  guns  in  their  haste  to  distance  the 
dreaded   swamp-men. 

Sam  and  Kafe  brought  water  in  a  dipper, 
which  Aunt  Chainy  had  made  from  a  wild 
gourd  some  time  before,  and  bathing  her 
forehead,  she  soon  revived. 

The  swamp-man  was  clad  in  the  skins  of 
Avild  beasts,  mostly  of  deer-skin,  with  a  cap 
of  shaggy,  coarse  fur,  suggestive  of  the  bear. 

As  Chainy  became  conscious,  and  saw  him, 
she  asked,  feebly,  as  she  raised  herself  on  her 
elbow,  — 


108  THE   POOR   WHITE. 


"Is  you  friend?" 

"  That  I  is,"  answered  the  maroon. 

A  something  in  his  brawny  face  and  wild- 
wood  air  gave  her  confidence,  and  she  ex- 
claimed,— 

"  Praise  de  Lord  !  you'll  help  us,  den  ; "  and 
as  she  looked  around,  catching  a  sight  of 
AYorkfork,  she  recalled  his  threat,  and  said, 
with  a  shocked  look, — 

"  AVhat  is  it  ?    Who  did  it  ?     Is  he  dead  ?  '' 

But  without  answering  her,  the  swamp- 
man  and  Sam  and  Eafe  helped  her  rise,  and 
led  her  to  the  cabin,  saying  she  must  rest. 

"Is  we  safe  from  the  bad  men?"  asked 
Chainy. 

"Yes,  dat  we  is,"  said  Rafe ;  "  they've  run 
off." 

"  They  clipped  it  like  deer,"  added  Sam. 

When  Chainy  had  rested  and  recovered 
from  her  fright,  she  asked  the  swamp-man 
how  he  came  to  find  them. 

"  I've  kept  watch  of  you  ever  since  Will 
Forbes  left,"  he  replied. 


AN   ENCOUNTER.  109 

"Has  you?  "  said  Chainy,  wondermgly. 

She  then  told  him  some  pai-ticulars  of  their 
history  and  adventures,  adding  that  she 
wished  to  be  in  a  safe  place  until  she  could 
Qnd  a  way  of  getting  Sam  back  to  his  father's 
house,  and  Hal  and  Frank  also  to  their  own 
home. 

The  maroon  nodded  assent,  and  sitting 
down  on  the  log,  pointed  to  the  skin  of  the 
buck,  stretched  for  drying,  on  the  boughs  op- 
posite, and  asked, — 

"Who  did  that?" 

Chainy  replied  that  Sam  and  Rafe  did  it. 

"  Big  hunters  !  "  said  he,  with  a  smile.  He 
seemed  much  pleased  with  his  new  acquain- 
tance, and  drew  from  Chainy  other  partic- 
ulars of  her  life,  to  which  he  listened  with 
i chained  attention,  often  ejaculating, — 
■     "Is  dat  so?     S'prizinM   s'prizin' ! " 

Chainy  asked  him  if  he  knew  of  any  safe 
dwelling,  where  they  could  live  in  peace. 

"  Yes,  dat  I  do,"  replied  he,  with  anima- 
tion; "derc's  my  cabin." 


110  THE   POOR  WHITE. 


"  Can't  de  slave-driver  find  it  ?  " 

"  No  danger  of  that,"  replied  the  swamp- 
man.  "  I  knows  every  bog  of  the  swamp, 
every  leaf  of  the  forest.  I'se  got  safe  cabin ; 
built  it  'spressly  for  such  as  you.  AVhen  you 
gits  rested,  I  take  you  there." 

He  then  returned  to  the  scene  of  the  fray, 
to  look  after  the  body  of  Workfork,  —  it  was 
not  to  be  found.  Where  could  it  be  ?  Had 
he  feigned  himself  dead,  and  crawled  off  un- 
observed, or  had  his  comrades  returned  for 
him?     It  was  an  unsolved  mystery. 

It  was  necessary  to  remain  till  the  next 
day,  on  account  of  the  shock  Chainy  had  re- 
ceived. 

Late  in  the  afternoon,  Sam  and  Eafe  brought 
the  dinner  into  the  little  gi-een  cabin,  and  the 
inmates,  having  recovered  from  the  startling 
occurrences  of  the  day  sufficiently  to  eat,  par- 
took of  the  meal  with  a  keen  relish. 

The  quiet  of  the  evening  was  undisturbed 
by  sounds  of  strife  ;  nought  but  the  croaking 
of  the  frogs,  the  singing  of  the  katydids,  the 


AN  ENCOUNTER.  Ill 

chirping  of  the  crickets,  and  the  occasional 
call  of  the  whippoorwill,  was  hoard,  and  the 
little  family  slept  in  peace  until  the  morning 
broke,  when  the  swamp-man  was  astir,  and 
getting  breakfast  with  the  aid  of  the  lads  ;  and 
having  spread  the  table  after  Chainy's  mode, 
they  all  sat  down  and  ate ;  after  which,  the 
maroon,  in  his  business-like  way,  arose,  and 
motioned  for  them  to  follow.  Giving  his  gini 
to  Rafe,  and  his  game  to  Sam,  he  took  Hal 
and  Frank  in  his  arms,  and  was  starting  on, 
when  Sam  called  out, — 

"Must  we  leave  the  stag's  horns,  an'  stag's 
hide  ?     Can't  we  tote  'em  too  ?  " 

"  Not  now,"  said  the  maroon  ;  "  I  will  come 
back  an'  git  'em  for  you  !  "  and  springing  down 
the  declivity,  he  was  soon  striding  from  bog 
to  bog,  with  wonderful  activity.  To  follow 
him  was  no  easy  matter;  and  just  as  the 
trio  behind  were  pitching  into  the  swamp, 
with  the  attempt  to  imitate  his  motions,  he 
turned  and  came  back,  and  sitting  down  on 
a  juniper  bush,  called  a  council  of  war. 


112  THE   POOR  WHITE. 


"Dese  sher  white  children'll  die,"  he  said, 
"  if  we  takes  'em  through  the  swamp  to  my 
cabin.  If  they  was  black,  it  woukl  be  bad 
enough  for  'em,  but  the  pison-oak  an'  lots  of 
other  things  is  death  to  'em." 

"  What  can  we  do  ?  "  asked  Chainy. 

"  It  wont  do  to  take  'em  through  that  part 
of  the  swamp,"  said  the  maroon;  "they'd 
breathe  the  pison  ])ref,  an'  swell  up  an'  die. 
I  mought  take  'em  down  the  canal-path,  to  the 
shingle  country,  where  they'd  be  safe  ;  an'  if 
we  paid  a  trader,  he'd  see  'em  safe  hum  ! " 

Tears  of  joy  shone  in  the  gladsome  light  of 
Chainy 's  beaming  face.  She  had  nerved  her- 
self to  the  utmost,  to  save  the  children  from 
a  dreadful  fate,  and  now  what  a  great  relief 
to  hear  of  any  prospect  of  final  deliverance  ! 
She  even  prattled  to  herself,  in  her  childish 
way,  — 

"  'Pears  like  if  ole  Chainy  sinks  to  de  grave 
in  dish  sher  swamp,  dese  are  little  children 
wont  starve.  I'se  dat  glad  for  'em,  I  is  !  De 
Lord  is  dat  good  ! " 


X. 

The  Sylvah  Lodge.     For  whom  was  it  btjilt? 

^1 T  was  decided  to  eucamp  for  the  night  in 
(V^  their  old  quarters,  and  after  a  good 
breakfast  off  the  game,  to  set  out  on  the  new 
route,  planned  by  them  aroon.  Accordingly, 
when  all  had  pai-taken  of  the  morning  meal, 
and  the  sun  had  broken  through  the  clouds  of 
fog,  the  party  addressed  themselves  to  their 
journey.  After  retracing  their  way  for  some 
distance  they  reached  the  canal,  and  found 
good  walking  on  the  smooth  tow-path. 

Sam  was  quite  elated  with  the  hope  that 
some  trader  could  be  induced  to  take  him  to 
his  home,  and  had  his  mind  made  up  that  it 
would  surely  be  the  first  man  they  met. 

"  Isn't  it,  most  time  to  see  a  trader  ?  '*  asked 
he  of  the  swamp-man,  as  he  trudged  close  by 
his  side. 


114  THE    rOOR   T\-HITE. 


"  May  be  right  smart  while  before  we  sees 
one,"  said  the  huuter. 

"  But  I  wants  to  see  one  right  smart  quick,' 
replied  Sam,  feeling  a  qualm  of  homesickness* 

"Dat  you  does,"  said  Chainy,  compassion- 
ately; "an'  we'll  find  one,  des  as  soon  as  we 
can." 

For  miles  they  walked  thus  on  the  borders 
of  the  canal  till  they  came  to  a  j^oint  in  the 
swamp  where  the  mai'oon  thought  it  would 
be  safe  to  cross  to  the  High  Eidge,  or  shingle 
country,  with  the  white  children.  Chainy  and 
the  lads  now  left  the  firm  land  for  spongy  soil, 
and  attemjjted  to  follow  the  hunter,  in  bound- 
ing from  bog  to  bog,  and  in  maintaining  a 
footing  on  the  half-submerged,  rotten  logs? 
that  partly  paved  the  way,  by  clinging  to  the 
adjacent  shrubs. 

Xo  Indian  Imew  the  forests  of  his  nativity 
better  than  did  this  woodsman  every  part  of 
this  vast  swampy  region.  He  understood  at 
a  glance  just  how  firm  the  bogs  were,  and 
with  Frank  and  Hal  in  his  arms,  threaded  his 


THE   SYLVAN   LODGE.  115 


way,  with  surprising  agility  through  the  tan- 
gled green-brier,  brake,  osiers,  and  the  myr- 
iad slime-loving  plants.     The  tardy  trio  were 
often  distanced,  and  their  guide  hidden  from 
them  by  masses  of  dense  foliage.     Indeed,  in 
their  attempts  to  hasten  their  pace,  they  often 
slipped  from  the  mouldy  logs,  and  after  floun- 
dering,  in  danger  of  sinking   irrecoverably, 
managed  to  creep  upon  them  again,  with  the 
help  of  the  swamp-man,  who,  having  deposited 
his  charge  in  the  thick  branches  of  the  cypress, 
had  returned  to  their  rescue,  and  lifting  them 
up  one  by  one,  bore  them  to  a  secure  footing, 
fast  by  the  trunk  of  some  giant  tree,  laughing 
at  their  awkwardness,  and  cheering  them  by 
saying  the  swamp  mud  would  cure  the  fevers, 
and  adding, — 

"De  bes'  of  it  is,  de  white  man  can't  pick 
dish  sher  path." 

The  maroon  was  conducting  them  by  a 
short  route  to  his  home,  which  it  would  have 
taken  them  long  miles  of  travel  to  reach  by 
the  wide  circuit  of  the  canal. 


116  THE   POOR   WHITE. 

*' Where  you  gwine  to  tote  me  ?  "  asked  Hal, 
who  had  for  some  time  been  looking  over  the 
woodman's  shoulder  at  the  strange  scenery. 

"To  my  green  cabin,"  replied  the  guide. 

"  Has  you  got  any  little  boy  ?  "  asked  Hal. 

"No,"  said  the  maroon,  sadly;  "I  lives  all 
alone." 

After  a  while  the  travelling  began  to  im- 
prove. The  bogs  were  nearer  together,  and 
less  inclined  to  submerge  at  the  pressure  of 
the  foot.  The  logs  being  mostly  out  of  water 
were  less  slippery,  and  afforded  a  safer  path- 
way whenever  they  chanced  to  lay  in  the  right 
direction,  A  strong  growth  of  sedge-grass, 
in  some  places,  had  rooted  and  decayed  and 
grown  again,  for  long  years,  until  a  miniatm'e 
hillock  was  formed.  These  were  more  com- 
mon, and  the  voracious  vegetation  seemed  as 
if  drinking  up  the  swamp  slops.  If  only  the 
impenetrable  cedar  boughs  that  roofed  the 
jungle  could  be  cut  away,  and  the  sun,  for 
once  in  ages,  could  get  a  fair  peep  at  the  re- 
maining scattered  puddles,  he  would  surely 


THE   SYLVAN   LODGE.  117 

exhale  them  into  vapor.  In  taking  this  route, 
our  travellers  had  avoided  almost  entirely  the 
vicinities  where  poisonous  j)lants  abounded. 
The  pawwaw,  the  thalictrum,  rank  and  tall, 
water-hemlock,  conium,  and  cicuta,  in  parts 
of  the  wilderness,  filled  the  air  with  a  nau- 
seous fragrance,  so  sickening  that  no  white 
person  could  live  under  its  influence.  Yet  it 
did  not  so  easily  affect  the  colored  man,  —a 
kind  Providence  had  thus  fenced  him  in  when 
once  he  had  attained  this  ''  city  of  refuo-e." 

A  sandy  belt,  sustaining  a  thick  growth  of 
pines,  was  reached  by  the  swamp-man,  and 
putting  Frank  and  Hal  in  a  place  of  safety, 
he  returned  to  help  those  behind.  It  was 
well  he  did  so,  for  they  sadly  needed  his  aid. 
"Oh  ! "  said  Chainy,  "  'pears  like  dat  pison 
air'll  kill  us  !  " 

"Oh,  no,"  replied  the  hunter,  "only  a  little 
mite  strouble,  dat  all,  nothin'  like  what  'twould 
be  if  we'd  gone  to  that  man.  When  you  all 
git  rested  in  my  home,  you'll  be  well  again ;  " 
and  he  tenderly  took  up  the  exhausted  woman, 


118  THE    rOOIl   WHITE. 


bore  her  to  his  dwelling  near  by,  and  laid 
her  on  a  nice  bed  of  deerskin  filled  with  moss, 
feathers,  and  leaves. 

In  a  moment  more  he  had  placed  Frank  and 
Hal  beside  her,  and  then  hastened  out  to  suc- 
cor Sam  and  Rafe.  A  feeder,  or  branch  of 
the  canal,  was  near  the  cabin,  and  the  com- 
pany might  have  reached  it  by  the  two  days' 
travel  on  the  tow^-path  ;  but  at  the  end  of  their 
journey  they  would  be  under  the  necessity  of 
swimming  the  canal,  which  was  both  wide  and 
deep  at  this  point,  unless,  indeed,  a  swamp- 
merchant's  boat  should  happen  in  sight.  Sam 
was  greatly  taken  up  with  the  hermit's  abode. 
It  was,  indeed,  the  prettiest  in  all  the  wild, 
but  was  more  of  a  lodge  than  a  cabin.  It 
could  be  seen,  at  a  glance,  that  he  had  been 
many  years  in  building  it,  and  had  been  as- 
sisted at  every  step  b}^  nature. 

The  site  of  the  lodge,  or  summer  retreat, 
was  well  chosen ;  it  was  a  gentle  elevation  ; 
the  soil  was  sand  and  loam,  and  every  green 
thing  flourished.     Sam's  ideas  had  been  much 


THE    SYLVAN   LODGE.  119 


expanded  in  'his  travels,  and  when  not  too 
home-sick  he  was  all  eager  curiosity.  He  noted 
that  lodge,  and  planned,  when  a  man,  to  have 
one  like  it,  for  summer,  in  the  piny  wood 
where  his  father's  cabin  stood.  The  hermit 
had  also  a  nice  warm  log-cabin  for  winter. 

Sam  noticed  that  the  lodge  was  formed  by 
setting  out  rows  of  young  trees,  enclosing  a 
space  some  twenty  feet  square,  in  the  centre 
of  which  was  a  noble  tulip-tree.  The  hedge, 
designed  for  the  walls  of  the  dwelling,  was 
kept  close  by  being  pruned  on  the  inside, 
but  allowed  to  grow  naturally  on  the  other. 
Lithe  willows  and  strong  walnuts,  when  high 
enough,  were  bent  and  fastened  to  the  centre 
tree  for  a  frame.  Eglantines,  climbing  roses, 
honeysuckles,  jasmines,  and  other  creepers 
were  set  at  work  to  clapboard  and  shingle 
the  tenement,  and  well  they  did  their  task, 
rejoicing  in  luxuriance. 

What  with  countless  days  of  pruning  and 
training,  the  hermit  saw  his  lodge  getting 
built  by  degrees,  and,  as  the  years  rolled  on, 


120  THE   POOR  WHITE. 


as  he  busied  himself  iu  furnishing  it,  the  lag- 
ging time  became  swift-winged. 

Sam  peered  about,  all  curiosity,  examining 
closely  the  chairs  of  gnarled  oak,  and  the  drink- 
ing-vessels,  or  goblets,  white  as  ivory,  made 
of  the  wood  of  the  tulip-tree.  He  meant  to 
furnish  his  mother's  cabin  with  some  made 
like  them.  He  noticed,  too,  that  the  hard 
earthen  floor  was  almost  covered  with  curi- 
ously woven  mats  of  colored  reeds,  imparting 
a  neat  and  tasteful  appearance.  He  would 
ask  the  hermit  to  show  him  how  to  make 
them,  and  then,  when  he  got  home,  what 
good  times  Tomtit  and  all  the  rest  of  the 
brood  would  have  braiding  mats  for  mother ! 
Leaving  Sam  to  explore  the  curious  sylvan 
dwelling,^ and  project  improvements  in  his 
father's  house,  let  us  see  what  is  the  matter 
with  Chainy  this  fine  morning,  for  there  she 
is  sitting  in  the  oaken  arm-chair,  crying !  Not 
an  hour  ago  she  awoke,  refreshed,  and  the 
quiet  security  of  the  pretty  dwelling  soothed 
her  worn  spirit. 


THE   SYLVAN   LODGE.  121 


The  hermit  had  a  cup  of  coffee,  a  corn- 
cake,  and  nice  slices  of  dried  venison  all 
ready  for  her  when  she  arose,  and,  the  chil- 
dren still  sleeping,  Chainy,  himself,  with  Sam 
and  Ilafe,  sat  down  to  eat. 

The  slave-woman's  heart  overflowed  with 
thankfulness ;  she  felt  that  the  Lord  had  de- 
livered them,  and  as  she  ate  she  praised  his 
name. 

*'  Does  the  Lord  always  hear  your  prayers  ?  " 
asked  observant  Sam,  as,  having  finished,  he 
rose  from  the  table. 

"  Yes,  honey,  dat  he  does  !  "  was  the  reply. 

"Didn't  you  pray  to  have  him  give  you  back 
your  Trolo  ?  "  asked  he  ;  for  he  had  heard  her 
tell  the  story  of  her  giief. 

"Dat  I  did !  Oh,  yes,  how  I  did  pray  de 
Fader  from  sun  to  sun  ! " 

"But  he  didn't  hear  you,"  said  Sam;  "and 
sometimes  I  think  it  aint  no  use  to  pray  !  " 

"  God  did  hear  her,"  cried  the  maroon, 
deeply  moved,  and  rising  to  his  feet.  "  /  am 
Trolo!'' 


122  THE   POOR   A\TnTE. 

"Trolo  !  Trolo  !  "  exclaimed  Chainy,  gazing 
earnestly  in  his  face,  then  falling  .on  his  neck 
and  kissing  him.  "My  Trolo!  Yes,  yes, 
dat's  so ! "  Then,  in  the  fulness  of  her  joy, 
she  cried,  saying,  as  she  could  find  voice, 
"  De  Lord  is  dat  good  !  dat  good  !  But  'pears 
like  it  can't  be  dat  you  is  my  boy  !  I  thought 
de  hunters  shot  my  Trolo,  great  many  years 
ago!" 

"An'  he  got  ^vell  again,  and  is  alive  now, 
for  I  am  he  I "  said  the  maroon. 

"De  Lord  be  praised  for  dat !"  said  Chainy. 
"Mauy's  de  time  'pears  like  if  dese  ole  eyes 
could  see  him  dey  neber  weep  agin  !  An'  now 
I'se  so  glad  I  can't  do  nothin'  but  cry  for  joy." 

"  I  am  your  own  Trolo,  mother  !  "  cried  the 
maroon,  and  he  clasped  her  in  his  arms  ;  while 
Chainy,  in  excess  of  happiness,  continued  to 
sob  like  a  child. 

Oh,  it  was  a  scene  to  make  heaven  glad,  — 
the  meeting  of  that  lone  mother  and  son,  so 
long  separated  by  the  cruel  hand  of  slavery, 
and  as  the  hours  swept  by,  they  poured  out 


THE   SYLVAN   LODGE.  123 


the  pent-up  griefs  of  long  years,  and  found 
healing  in  sympathy  and  love. 

"  De  Lord  is  dat  good  !  "  Chainy  continued 
to  repeat,  as  she  listened  to  her  son's  recital 
of  his  adventures,  after  losing  sight  of  her  on 
the  night  of  theif  escape. 

"I  reckon  he  is,"  replied  he  ;  "I  didn't  know 
I  was  makin'  a  hum  for  you,  mother;  but 
day  an'  night  I  have  longed  for  you  to  come, 
and  kep'  building  it,  building  it,  feeling  in 
my  heart  dat  I  must,  but  neber  dreamed 
you'd  some  day  be  here.  De  Fader  saunt 
you,  dat  is  sartin  !  " 

"De  Lord,  he  does  hear  prayer,"  fervently 
echoed  Chainy,  turning  to  Sam,  who  just  then 
came  running  in  with  his  arms  full  of  reeds, 
to  ask  the  hermit  to  teach  him  to  weave  mats. 
"  I  wants  Sam  always  to  remember  dat,  an'  if 
he  is  in  strouble  he  can  pray." 

"I  mean  to  pray  to  have  him  let  me  go 
home  !  "  said  Sam,  much  impressed. 

Frank  and  Hal  were  moaning  in  their 
sleep.     Chainy  went  to  them,  and  found  their 


124  THE   POOR   ^VHITE. 


faces  aucl  hands  covered  with  large  blotches 
and  fine  fiery  pimples.  The  quick  eye  of  the 
maroon  saw  it,  and  he  knew,  despite  all  his 
care,  that  they  were  sick  by  exposure  to  the 
poisonous  air  of  the  swamp.  Hastening  out, 
he  soon  returned  with  an  arhiful  of  a  healins: 
emolient  plant,  well  known  to  himself  as  in 
some  cases  a  preventive  and  cure  for  the  poi- 
son of  certain  other  plants,  and  rubbing  the 
faces  and  hands  of  the  little  boys,  hoped  that* 
it  would  relieve  them. 

But  the  healing  application  had  not  been  in 
season  to  stop  the  eflects  of  the  poison ;  they 
were  covered  from  head  to  foot  with  the  itch- 
ing, burning  eruption,  and  cried  piteously  in 
their  pain.  "With  Sam  it  was  quite  different ; 
the  antidote  seemed  to  work  wonders,  and  to 
arrest  the  poison,  as  soon  as  he  felt  it  coming 
on.  The  hunter  said  that  he  would  soon  be 
quite  well,  but  shook  his  head  apprehensively 
as  he  saw  how  sick  the  little  ones  were. 

As  Frank  restlessly  tossed  on  the  bed,  and 
cried,    Chainy   took   him   in    her    arms    and 


THE  SYLVAN  LODGE.  125 

walked  to  and  fro,  singing  a  lullaby,  but  to 
little  purpose. 

"Poor  little  thing!  darlin'  infant  baby! 
What  Aunt  Chainy  do?  what  Aunt  Chainy 
do?" 

"I  must  go  to  Cypress  Eidge,"  said  the  her- 
mit, "and  see  if  I  can't  find  something  to  help 
them  I " 

At  the  sound  of  the  name,  Sam  was  all  at- 
tention. 

"Let  me  go  too,"  said  he,  "there's  where 
we'll  meet  the  traders  who'll  take  me  back  to 
Piny  Wood ! " 

e  "  You  shall  go,"  replied  the  hermit ;  "  I 
reckon  there'll  be  some  way  of  sendin'  you 
there  I " 

Chainy  filled  the  hermit's  game-bag  with 
food  for  their  dinner,  and  telling  Sam  to  be 
sure  and  come  back  if  he  did  not  find  some 
one  to  show  him  home,  she  blessed  him,  and 
promised  to  pray  for  him.  The  hermit,  giv- 
ing Chainy  and  Kafe  directions  about  taking 


126  THE   POOR   AVHTTE. 


.  care  of  the  children,  and  dutifully  kissing  his 
newly-found  mother,  left,  saying,  — 

**Ifs  lots  harder  gwiue  away,  now  you  is 
here !  " 

Sam  followed,  after  he  had  bidden  Rafe  and 
Chainy  a  second  good-by. 


Ik 


XI. 

Sam  makes  a  Discovert. 

^, /yi  ITH  quick  steps,  the  maroon  and  Sara 
ViiiA'  went  down  to  the  feeder,  or  canal 
branch,  which  lay  at  the  foot  of  the  slope. 

"Where  is  the  boat?"  asked  Sam. 

"It's  safe  in  its  hiding-place,"  replied  the 
hermit,  as  he  drew  it  out  of  the  thick  bushes 
that  fringed  the  stream. 

"  Oh,"  exclaimed  Sam,  "  what  a  pretty 
boat !  " 

"This  is  a  canoe,"  said  the  hermit;  "I  hol- 
lowed it  out  of  a  gum-tree." 

"  Did  you  ?  "  exclaimed  Sam.  "  I  wish  there 
was  a  canal  and  a  little  boat  at  our  house ;  I'd 
row  Tomtit  an'  the  rest  in  it  I  " 

"  Can't  have  everything  we  want,"  was  the 
reply,  as  the  two  stepped  in. 
■  It  was  a  bright  day,  and  a  half-hour's  row- 

127 


128  THE   POOR   AVTHTE. 


ing  brought  them  to  the  large  canal.  Sam 
was  delighted  with  the  canoe  ride,  and  with 
exhilarated  interest  saw  wonderful  sights 
every  moment.  The  canal  passed  through 
the  heart  of  the  Great  Swamp,  unveiling  the 
wildest  scenery  imaginable.  Magnificent  ce- 
dars and  magnolias,  immense  cypresses,  ele- 
gant hackmetacks,  and  catalpas  mingled  with 
sturdy  gums,  oaks,  and  tulip  trees,  to  make 
twilight  at  noonday,  and  to  complete  the 
gloom  of  the  forest;  from  numerous  trees 
hung  the  long  dishevelled  moss,  funeral  to- 
kens for  the  loss  of  the  sun. 

All  this  strange,  unique  scenery  had  long 
talked  to  the  heart  of  the  sWamp-man,  and 
caused  him  to  think  reverently  of  the  great 
Father,  and  of  his  wonderful  works ;  but  it 
seemed  to  Sam  that  he  could  never  tire  of 
gazing  at  the  dim  old  woods,  and  then  at  the 
marvellous  array  of  flowers  that,  won  by  the 
line  of  light  opened  by  the  canal,  bloomed  ou 
its  banks,  and  dressed  their  corals  as  they 
were   mirrored   in   the   water.      There  were 


SAM   MAKES   A   DISCOVERY.  129 

old  friends  and  strangers  grouped  together, 
—  wake-robins,  lilies  of  the  valley,  violets, 
and  anemones.  The  trumpet-flower  climbed 
among  the  tall  trees,  and  the  delicate  fox- 
glove and  harebell,  with  gorgeous  individ- 
uals of  the  orchis  family,  best  loved  seques- 
tered nooks.  Plats  of  thick-standing  phlox 
rejoiced  in  the  light,  looking  like  a  fairy  army, 
in  plumes  of  pinks. 

"  Oh,  wouldn't  Lottie  like  them  posies !  '* 
exclaimed  Sam  ;  and  when  he  saw  the  brilliant 
cardinal  flowers,  he  could  contain  himself  no 
longer,  but  begged  the  hermit  to  stop  and  let 
him  pick  a  handful,  for  they  stood  close  by 
the  water's  edge. 

"You  shall  have  them,"  was  the  pleasant 
reply,  at  the  same  time  gathering  a  hand's 
swath,  as  the  canoe  passed  by;  "but  they'll 
fade  before  you  reach  Lottie,  and  you'll  find 
plenty  of  'em  that  way." 

Stopping  for  a  little  while,  to  rest  and  eat 
their  snack,  the  maroon  made  what  speed  he 
could,  till  at  length  the  shadows  of  evening 


130  THE  POOR  WHITE. 


brooded  thickly  over  the  forest,  when,  fearing 
for  Sam,  he  looked  for  a  shelter..  The  bat 
and  the  owl  came  forth  from  their  hiding- 
places, —  the  former  flitting  and  boldly  flap- 
ping its  wings  in  their  faces,  and  the  latter 
solemnly  hooting  and  welcoming  the  dark- 
ness. 

Myriads  of  frogs  mingled  treble  and  bass  in 
clamorous,  croaking  concert,  celebrating  the 
praises  of  their  slimy  gi'een  coverts,  the 
beauty  and  convenience  of  their  plasl^y  habi- 
tations. Never  had  frogs  such  cities  and  vil- 
lages since  the  world  began ;  never  did  they 
flourish  in  such  undisturbed  prosperity. 

Fireflies  glistened  on  fern,  flower,  and 
leaf,  like  so  many  sparkling  diamonds. 

Sam  did  not  weary  of  the  shifting  show  ;  and 
the  swamp-man  loved  the  sights  and  sounds 
of  night ;  but  he  felt  anxious  to  accomplish 
the  object  of  his  journey  ;  otherwise,  he  would 
have  encamped  on  the  boughs  of  some  century- 
lived  cypress,  and  been  lulled  to  sleep  by  the 
varying  serenade  and  his  own  musings. 


SAM  MAKES   A   DISCOVERY.  131 

•  He  knew  that  not  unfrequently  panthers 
and  bears  lurked  in  the  thicket.  For  himself, 
he  had  no  fear  of  either,  as  he  was  skilled  in 
wild-beast  warfare  ;  but  if  attacked,  he  might 
fail  to  protect  Sam,  hence  he  Avas  the  more 
anxious  to  reach  his  quarters  for  the  night. 
At  length,  gleaming  tln'ough  the  darkness, 
-and  an  opening  in  the  foliage,  he  saw  a  clus- 
ter of  phosphorescent  pines.  He  well  knew 
the  place,  and  lost  no  time  in  mooring  his  ca- 
noe, and  in  conducting  his  young  charge  to 
the  hospitable  cabin  of  Kize  Carter;  for, 
notwithstanding  the  savage  hound  that  kept 
guard,  it  was  hospitable.  Calling  off  the  dog, 
he  had  a  fire  kindled  on  the  well-swept  hearth, 
—  to  get  supper  and  to  keep  off  the  chilliness 
of  the  evening,  —  and  bade  his  guests  be 
.seated  a;nd  make  themselves  at  home. 

Kize  Carter  was  a  poor  Avhite,  —  a  swamp- 
merchant.  Along  the  line  of  the  great  canal 
which  traverses  the  swamp  lengthwise,  con- 
necting the  waters  of  the  Chesapeake  with  Al- 
bormarlo  Sound,  are  located  a  rough  set  of 


132  THE   POOR   WHITE. 

persons, — poor  whites,  —  who  trade  with  thd 
maroons.  These  merchants  obtain  their  sup- 
plies, and  convey  the  produce  of  the  swamp 
principally,  if  not  entirely,  to  Norfolk.  The 
articles  which  the  negroes  require  are  for  the 
most  part  salfed  provisions,  Indian  corn, 
coarse  clothes,  and  tools,  and  what  they  fur- 
nish in  payment  are  chiefly  staves  and  shin- 
gles. These  traders  being  low  whites,  whom 
slavery  had  robbed  of  a  chance  to  engage  in 
getting  an  honest  livelihood,  and  were  thus 
necessitated  to  seize  the  only  means  to  avoid 
starvation,  which  was  stealthily  and  adroitly 
to  pursue  this  unlawful  trade. 

As  it  is  a  difficult  matter  to  enforce  the 
laws,  the  buyers  and  sellers  of  the  wilderness 
alike  avoid  detection,  and  ply  their  business 
in  undisturbed  prosperity. 

Our  heroes  were  glad  of  the  friendly  shel- 
ter of  the  traficker's  cabin,  and  directly  they 
sat  down  to  a  supper  of  slices  of  dried  beef, 
boiled  bacon,  and  roasted  potatoes. 

The  landlord,  —  that  anomaly,  a  fat  "poor 


SAM   MAKES    A    DISCOVERY.  133 

white,"  that  coutradictiou,  a  rich-poor  white, 
—  having  arisen  to  let  the  new-comers  enter, 
agiiin  blocked  up  the  doorway  with  his  ro- 
tund figure.  As  our  travellers  began  to  eat, 
the  trader  knocked  the  ashes  from  his  pipe, 
and  replenishing  it  with  tobacco  from  an  old, 
greasy-looking  box,  handed  it  to  his  daughter 
Cretia  to  light,  and  settled  back  in  his  chair 
for  a  talk. 

"Come  out  of  the  swamp,  I  reckon." 

."Yes,"  replied  the  maroon. 

"  Haint  I  seen  vou  afore  ?  " 

»/ 

"I  reckon  so,"  was  the  reply ;  "Pse  eat  here 
afore  to-day." 

"So  I  reckoned,"  said  the  trader;  "I  reck- 
oned I'd  seed  you  afore!"  and  placing  the 
lighted  pip^e  which  Cretia  had  handed  him  in 
the  right  corner  of  his  mouth,  he  asked,  — 

"What's  the  news  your  way?" 

"Nothin'  much,"  said  the  maroon. 

"Wal,"  said  the  trader,  "there's  a  great 
hubbub  this  way.  Jeff  Davis  he  wants  to  be 
president  in  place  of  old  Abe,  and  he's  started 


134  THE    POOR   WHITE. 


the  biggest  rebellion,  or  revolution;  but  it 
don't  harm  our  business.  It  beats  all  natur , 
it  does,  sir.  Ye  see,  slaves  is  bound  to  run 
away,  now  their  masters  has  gone  to  war,  an' 
I  aint  the  man  to  blame  'em  nuther ;  the  more 
the  merrier  for  me ;  and  I'd  run  away,  too, 
afore  I'd  tight  for  Jeff, — that  is,  if  I  could 
run." 

"Don't  any  soldiers  trouble  you?''  asked 
the  maroon.     "Is  you  safe?" 

"  Safe  as  a  mouse  in  a  mill,"  replied  the 
merchant.  "If  the  United  States  should  try 
to  oust  us,  ye  see  it'd  cost  mor'n  it  would 
come  to,  and  the  Confederates  has  too  much 
to  do  to  think  on  us.  Deserters  sometimes 
comes  along,  an'  we  shows  'em  how  we  man- 
ages, an'  they  hires  out,  or  sets  up  for  'em- 
selves.  Only  a  week  ago  a  poor  fellar  'scaped 
here  all  in  tatters  an'  rags,  an'  I  never  pitied 
a  man  so  much  in  all  my  life.  Cretia,  she 
made  him  a  nice  partridge  broth,  and  fitted 
him  up  in  my  clothes  that  I'd  outgrown,  an' 
iu  three  days  you  wouldn't  ha',  known  him. 


SAM   MAKES   A   DISCOVERY.  135 


He  went  to  work  as  my  man,  gettiii'  out 
staves  aiv  shingles  ;  but  here  he  comes  I "  and 
as  the  trader  finished  speaking  a  man  entered,- 
and  taking  oif  his  cap  and  hanging  it  on  a  nail 
in  the  corner  of  the  room,  drew  a  chair  by  the 
wide  fireplace  and  sat  down.  The  hound, 
Music,  followed  him  in,  wagging  his  tail,  and 
crouched  beside  him. 

Sam  eyed  the  man  from  the  instant  he  came 
in,  and  after  a  moment,  edged  up  to  him  and 
looked  eagerly  into  his  face. 

**  Why,  Sam  !  "  exclaimed  fhe  new-comer, 
catching  him  up  in  his  arms,  "how  came  you 
here?" 

"  Oh,  father,  father !  "  cried  Sam ;   "  Tse  so 
glad  !  halloa  !  my  crackey  !  "  and  jumping  out  ij||^ 
t)f  his  arms  he  danced,  turned  summersaults,  ^ 
and  cut  all  sorts  of  capers.     As  for  the  father, 
he  was  too  happy,  and   tears  of  joy  chased 
each  other  over  his  cheeks. 

"  Did  you  come  arter  me  ? "  asked  Sam, 
as  he  stopped  to  take  breath. 


136  THE   POOR   WHITE. 

"Yes,  Sam.  You  seen  anything  of  Lottie?" 
was  the  reply. 

"No;  is  she  lost?" 

"  She  left  hum  to  find  you,  Sam,  a  few  days 
ai*ter  you  was  missing.  Nothin'  would  do  but 
she  must  go,  an'  I  didn't  think  on't  so  much 
at  the  time,  but  arter  she  was  really  gone,  it 
struck  to  my  heart ;  an'  I  thought  I'd  ruther 
die  than  not  set  out  to  see  w^hat's  become  of 
yees.  So  I  told  your  mother  I  was  gwine, 
for  I  couldn't  sleep,  nor  eat,  nor  smoke..  At 
fust  she  went  Sgin  it;  but  arter  she  fell  to 
prayin'  she  felt  better  about  it,  —  you  know, 
Sam,  she  aluz  prays  'bout  everything,  —  an' 
she  gin  her  consent;  though  for  that  matter 
I  should  gone  if  she  hadn't,  I  was  that  sot  on 
it." 

"How  did  you  know  I  was  hid  in  the 
swamp  ?  " 

"  I  didn't  know  it,"  was  the  reply,  "  I  s'pect 
your  mother'd  say  it  was  in  answer  to  her 
prayers.  I  never  thought  of  finding  you 
here  ; "  and  he  gazed  fondly  on  his  son. 


XII. 

Trouble  in  the  Mansion. 

^^^t  YATT  Hail  was  the  name  of  the  home 
vi^LA'  of  Frank  and  Hal.  It  was  a  fine  old 
establishment  in  Eastern  Virginia.  Mr.  Bev- 
erly Manson,  their  father,  had  his  plantation 
well  stocked  with  slaves,  —  about  one  hundred 
and  fifty  in  number. 

In  early  life  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Manson  regretted 
the  existence  of  slavery,  and  often  expressed 
themselves  as  in  favor  of  a  condition  of  soci- 
ety like  that  of  the  North,  where  the  laboring 
classes  are  paid  regular  wages  and  are  encour- 
aged to  have  homes  of  their  own. 

But,  as  time  passed,  they  loved  more  the 
gains  of  slavery,  and  became  imbruted  to  the 
system.  Adopting  the  false  views  of  their  po- 
litical leaders,  they  came  to  think  it  part  and 
parcel   of    the   highest   form   of  civilization. 


138  THE    POOR   WHITE. 


The  division  of  mankind  into  the  two  great 
classes  of  master  and  slave,  it  was  argued, 
was  the  most  desirable.  They  also  professed 
to  think,  with  many  other  Southern  people, 
that  slavery  was  a  divine  institution,  and  that 
the  w^orking  classes  ought  everywhere  to  be 
slaves ;  that  the  family  relation  ought  not  to 
exist  only  in  case  of  the  master  —  denying  all 
right  of  the  poor  to  husband,  wife,  and  child, 
— all  right  to  resist  oppression  ;  claim iug  that 
God  is  a  respecter  of  persons  and  on  the  side 
of  the  oppressor ;  that  he  does  7iot  lend  a 
listening  ear  to  the  humble  ;  that  he  does  not 
think  upon  the  poor,  but  has  created  them  to 
serve  the  rich,  as  the  horse,  the  ox,  and  the 
mule  serve  man,  in  drudgery  and  unpaid  toil ; 
that  when  God  gave  man  dominion  over  the 
fish  of  the  sea  and  the  fowl  of  the  air,  and 
over  the  living  creatures  on  the  foce  of  the 
earth,  he  also  gave  him  dominion  over  his  fel- 
low-man. 

They  ignored  the  idea  that  God  made  of 
one  blood  all  nations  of  men  that  dwell  on  the 


TROUBLE   IN  THE   MANSION.  139 

face  of  the  earth.  They  adopted  a  new  relig- 
ion, just  the  opposite  of  the  Christian  religion  ; 
the  grand  feature  of  it  was  not  to  "  do  unto 
others  as  ye  would  that  they  should  do  luito 
you,"  but  rather  "might  makes  right,"  saying 
to  the  slave  "Thou  shalt  serve  me,  for  thou 
art  weak,  and  I  am  strong." 

"I  was  never  so  happy  in  my  life,"  said 
Mrs.  Mansou,  the  mother  of  little  Frank  and 
Hal,  a  few  days  before  the  opening  of  our 
story,  "  as  since  I  adopted  these  views ;  they 
reconcile  so  many  difficulties." 

"Ah,  yes,  indeed,"  replied  Mr.  Manson, 
"that's  so.  The  truth  is,  this  half-way  belief 
in  slavery  only  makes  one  miserable.  It's 
'whole  hog  or  nothing,' with  me,  after  this. 
I've  done  with  making  apologies  for  slavery  ; 
it's  the  thing — the  system — the  divine  insti- 
tution, and  it's  the  mission  of  the  Southern 
people  to  establish  it  in  the  different  countries 
of  this  continent.  Fii'st,  we  must  have  all  the 
States  and  Territories  well  pervaded  with  it.'' 

"  I  think  I  know  a  thing  or  two,"  broke  in 


140  THE    POOR    WHITE. 

Mrs.  Mauson,  in  a  lively  way ;  "  the  'Knights 
of  the  Golden  Circle '  unite  for  the  purpose  of 
extending  our  institution  ;  tell  me,  now,  isn't 
it  so?" 

"Wh}",  how  should  I  know?"  asked  Mr. 
Mauson  with  a  suppressed  smile. 

"Pretty  story  if  you  don't,"  was  the  rejoin- 
der. "You  a  member,  and  don't  know  what 
the  order  is  for  !  " 

"Well,  if  I  did  know,  you  do  not  suppose 
I  could  reveal  the  secrets?"  said  the  husband. 

"Ah,  no,  of  course  not;  but  every  one  says 
this  much, — that  it  is  for  the  general  purpose 
of  extending  and  perpetuating  slavery ;  the 
secrets  are  the  ways  and  means  planned  to  ac- 
complish this,  I  reckon." 

"You  do,  hey?"  said  Mr.  Manson,  knock- 
ing the  ashes  from  his  cigar. 

"But  I  don't  reckon,"  added  Mrs.  Manson, 
in  a  pouting  way,  "  that  you'd  tell  me  one  of 
the  secrets  of  your  Grand  Order  for  love  or 
money,  —  not  to  save  my  life  !  " 

"Probably  not,"  was  the  cool  reply;  then 


TROUBLE   m  THE  MANSION.  141 


humorously,  "Now,  wife,  don't  be  after  get- 
ting up  a  scene,  making  it  appear  that  you  are 
about  to  give  up  the  ghost,  because  you  can 
not  learn  from  me  what  are  the  secrets  of  the 
*  Knights ; '  I  shall  tell  you  a  story  if  you 
do.  Once  upon  a  time  there  were  two  old  la- 
dies, as  Washington  Irving  relates,  who  lived 
on  one  side  of  a  street  in  a  thickly-settled 
place,  and  being  maiden  ladies,  of  course  they 
made  it  a  point  to  know  who  their  neighbors 
were.  Now  it  so  happened  that  a  family 
moved  into  the  vacant  house  just  opposite 
them  early  one  morning  before  they  were 
astir,  and  the  good  ladies  busied  themselves 
all  the  day  in  making  inquiries  as  to  who  they 
were;  but  to  no  purpose.  Nobody  knew; 
they  could  gain  no  information  whatever  on  a 
point  so  vital  to  their  peace  " — 

"Now,  don't,  Beverly,"  said  Mrs.  Manson, 
still  pouting,  yet  smiling  in  spite  of  herself. 

"As  you  may  suppose,"  continued  he,  "the 
good  ladies  slept  little  that  night  but  whiled 
away  the  hours  of  midnight  in  conjectures  re- 


142  THE   POOR   WHITE. 


specting  who  the  neighbors  opposite  coii]d 
possibly  be.  They  arose  with  the  early  dawn 
to  pursue  their  investigations ;  but,  alas, 
as  fruitlessly  as  before.  Days,  weeks,  and 
months  passed,  and  the  ladies  wore  no  wiser. 
At  length  their  feverish  suspense  became  in- 
supportable ;  they  could  endure  it  no  longer, 
and,  one  after  the  other,  they  pined  away  and 
died,  simply  from  unsatistied  curiosity ;  so 
I  advise  you  not  to  take  the  disease,  for  there's 
no  telling  how  hard  it  might  go  with  you." 

"What  an  idea !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Manson. 
^  IVe  no  notion  of  dying,  let  me  tell  you  ;  I  in- 
tend to  live  till  this  war  is  through,  and  see 
our  institution  planted  and  thriving  all  through 
New  England,  the  Western  States,  and  the 
Territories  ;  I  sha'n't  kick  the  bucket  till  then, 
mind  you,  Knights  or  no  Knights.  But  it'tj 
a  burning  shame  that  we  ladies  aren't  admitted 
to  the  Order.  Who  docs  so  much  for  the  Con- 
federacy as  we  do?  We  deny  ourselves  of 
rich  dress,  that  we  may  have  money  to  clothe 
our  soldiers ;   we   rob  ourselves    of  ease   and 


TROUBLE   IN   THE   MANSION.  143 

needful  rest  to  make  their  clothes.  Yet  you 
moil  take  all  the  glory  of  everything  that's  ac- 
complished. I'd  like  to  see  justice  done,  I 
should  indeed  ;  but  I  reckon  I  must  await  the 
verdict  of  the  impartial  historian,  and  if  it  isn't 
recorded  by  him  that  this  glorious  uprising  of 
the  South  originated  and  was  carried  on  main- 
ly by  the  efforts  of  us  women,  I'm  greatly  mis- 
taken." 

"  He'll  give  you  your  due,  of  course,"  said 
Mr.  Manson,  complacently. 

"  That's  all  we  claim,"  said  Mrs.  Manson. 
"  I  only  wish  Frank  and  Hal  were  grown  to 
manhood ;  I'd  send  them  off  to  the  war  this 
very  day !  " 

"  You  would,  hey  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Manson. 

"  That  I  would,  and  if  I  had  twenty  sons, 
they  should-  all  go,  and  more  than  all  that,  if 
I  was  a  man,  I'd  go  myself.  Talk  about 
Knio-hts  of  the  Golden  Circle  and  a  secret 
league.  It  seems  to  me  that  you  men  aren't 
half  awake  to  the  responsibilities  of  the  hour." 

"Maybe   not,"  replied  Mr,  Manson ;    "but 


144  THE    POOR   WHITE. 

what  more  can  we  do  ?  We  pour  out  money 
and  treasure  free  as  water,  and  our  armies  are 
filliuor  the  land.  Ah*eadv  our  lines  of  defences 
reach  from  Harper's  Ferry  to  Norfolk,  and  as 
many  as  one  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  armed 
men  are  in  Virginia  alone.  Fifteen  thousand 
are  at  Richmond.  AVe  are  making  ready  to 
pour  down  upon  Washington ;  we  are  sure  of 
the  capital" — 

"  So  I've  heard  for  months,"  replied  Mrs. 
Manson  ;  "  but  I  do  not  see  any  real  advance 
in  that  direction.  It's  '  all  talk  and  no  cider,' 
as  the  Indian  said.  More  '  do '  and  less '  say ' 
would  suit  me  better,  I  confess." 

"Xo  advance  !  Why,  wife,  what  can  you  be 
thinking  of?  I  take  it  our  generals  know 
what  they  are  about.  They  are  fortifying  and 
making  themselves  impregnable.  .Thousands 
upon  thousands  of  our  slaves  are  employed 
upon  the  fortifications  from  sunrise  till  sunset, 
day  after  day." 

"That  may  be,"  returned  Mrs..  Manson, 
"  but  what  is  the  use  of  it  ?      We  are  putting 


TROUBLE   IN   THE   MANSION.  145 


ourselves  upon  the  defensive,  when  our  boast 
has  been  for  years  tliat  we  would  be  on  the  of- 
fensive ;  —  we  would  cany  the  war  into  the 
enemy's  country,  and  make  them  swallow  our 
terms,  or  perish.  We  never  planned  to  act 
like  moles,  and  dig  and  hide  ourselves  in  the 
sand.  It's  such  an  inglorious  mode  of  warfare 
that  we  ladies  have  no  patience  with  it.  If 
we  could  only  manage  affairs  a  little  while, 
we'd  bring  them  Yanks  to  terms.  We 
wouldn't  give  them  a  chance  to  pour  down  up- 
on us  like  Goths  and  Vandals  as  they  are ; 
we'd  have  them  routed,  hip  and  thigh,  on  their 
own  soil.  Strange  our  leaders  cannot  do  as 
they  said  they  would, —  invade  the  enemy's 
country,  and  subdue  them  there." 

"]S"onsense,  wife  I  Why  not  have  a  little 
more  patience  ?  " 

"I  have  had  quite  too  much  of  it  already," 
was  the  reply.  "At  this  rate,  we  shall  soon 
be  out  of  everything  eatable,  except  the  few 
things  we   raise    on  our  plantation.     If  Jeff 


146  THE   POOR   AVHITE. 

don't  move  faster,  we  shall  be  ruined,  and  I 
shall  tell  him  so  the  next  time  I  see  him." 

""W^hy,  wife,  our  leaders  know  what  they 
are  about.  If  they  do  not  advance  into  the 
North,  common  Christian  charity  leads  us  to 
conclude  that  they  have  good  reasons  for  their 
course.  Prepare  yourself  for  a  surprise,  Ame- 
lia; great  strategic  purposes  are  being  ma- 
tured by  our  generals." 

"  That's  what  I  am  complaining  of,"  replied 
the  wife,  "  so  much  planning  and  so  little  do- 
ing. Pray,  what  have  Jeif  and  the  rest  ac- 
complished since  this  revolution  commenced  ?  " 

"  I  am  surprised,  wife,  that  you  should  ask 
such  a  question.  The  commencement  of  the 
revolution  dates  back  full  fifty  years, —  ever 
since  any  of  our  number  dreamed  of  secession. 
Step  by  step  we've  brought  the  Northerners 
to  terms.  We  have  really  ruled  the  country ; 
most  of  the  Presidents  have  been  chosen  from 
the  Slave  States,  at  least  a  larger  propor- 
tion than  our  white  population  would  warrant ; 
this  was  allowed  by  the  obsequious,  cringing 


TROUBLE    IN    THE   MANSION.  147 


Northerners  in  order  to  conciliate  us,  their 
masters.  There  was  the  Missouri  Compromise, 
which  really  yielded  the  whole  thing,  allowing 
us  a  footing  in  certain  Territories.  The  Fugi- 
tive Slave  Bill,  you  cannot  have  forgotten 
that.  Didn't  we  come  it  over  the  dough-faces 
when  we  made  that  law?  Why,  every  man, 
woman,  and  child  of  the  North  was  bound  to 
turn  dog,  and  help  us  retake  our  stray  prop- 
erty !  Just  what  the  miserable  descendants 
of  the  Puritans  are  fitted  for, —  to  help  hunt 
runaways.  If  that  confounded  ship  that 
brought  over  the  hypocritical  Pilgrim  Fathers 
to  this  country,  had  sunk  in  mid-ocean,  we 
should  never  have  been  put  to  the  trouble  of 
furnishin<r  their  hated  descendants  with  con- 
genial  employment ! 

"But  have  vou  foro^otten  how  serviceable 
we  have  made  them  to  us?  Have  you  for- 
gotten the  concessions  of  Webster,  and  how, 
having  committed  himself  to  our  policy,  he 
held  fast  with  the  motto,  nidla  vesiiyia  re- 
trorsum  ? 


148  THE    POOR   ^\TIITE. 


"  Then  to  speak  more  particularly  of  our 
leaders,  you  quite  ignore  the  important  agen- 
cy of  our  Hon.  Secretary  Floyd.  Here  is  a 
paragraph  which  I  cut  from  the  Richmond 
'  Enquirer '  some  little  time  ago  :  '  The  facts  we 
are  about  to  state  are  official  and  indisputable. 
Under  a  single  order  of  the  late  Secretary  of 
War,  the  Hon.  Mr.  Floyd,  made  during  the 
last  year,  there  were  150,000  improved  mus- 
kets and  rifles  transferred  from  the  Springfield 
Armory,  Mass. ,  and  Watervliet  Arsenal,  N.  Y. , 
to  different  arsenals  of  the  South.  The  total 
number  of  improved  arms,  thus  supplied  to 
five  depositories  at  the  South  by  a  single  or- 
der of  the  late  Secretary-  of  AVar,  was  111,- 
S^S."*  And  throuorhout  our  Confederacv,  bv 
the  management  of  the  same  master  hand  there 
were  distributed  to  various  convenient  points, 
707,000  stand  of  arms,  and  200,000  revol- 
vers." 

"  That  was  far-sighted  and  statesman-like,  I 
allow,"  replied  Mrs.  Manson. 

"That  it  was!"  said  Mr.  Manson.     "And 


TROUBLE    IN   THE   3IANSION.  149 


the  North  felt  the  blow  thus  aimed  at  her  vi- 
tals. Hear  this  from  FloycVs  successor,  Cam- 
eron, under  Lincoln's  administration,  —  hear 
him  groan :  — 

''  'Upon  my  appointment  to  the  position,  I 
found  the  department  destitute  of  all  means  of 
defence,  without  guns,  and  with  little  means 
of  purchasing  the  materml  of  war.  I  found 
the  nation  without  an  army,  and  I  found 
scarcely  a  man  throughout  the  whole  War  De- 
partment in  whom  I  could  put  my  trust.  The 
Adjutant  General  deserted.  The  Quarter- 
master General  ran  off.  The  Commissary 
General  was  on  his  death-bed.  More  than 
half  the  clerks  were  disloyal ! ' 

"Do  you  call  it  doing  nothing  to  bring  about 
this  hubbub  and  distress  on  that  fragment  of  a 
Government  at  the  North  ?  " 

"All  that  is  very  w^ell,"  replied  Mrs.  Man- 
son  ;  "  but  I  complain  that  they've  done  less 
than  they  have  encouraged  us  to  expect. 
Washington   was   to   have   been   taken   long 


150  THE   POOR   WHITE. 

"  Ah,  well,"  replied  a\Ir.  ^Manson,  "  that  is  in 
the  programme.  You'll  wake  up  some  morn- 
ing and  find  it  was  taken  while  you  were 
asleep." 

"I've  been  looking  for  that,"  returned  Mrs. 
Manson,  "  until  I  am  heart-sick.  It  seems  to 
me  that  our  men  boast  over  their  wine,  and 
fall  short  when  they  come  to  executing  their 
threats." 

"Perhaps  so,  sometimes  ;  but  the  capture  of 
Washington  City  can  be  easily  accomplished  by 
Virginia  and  Maryland ;  but  I  think,  myself, 
there  isn't  a  moment  to  lose.  The  whole 
country  pants  for  the  onset.  Military  com- 
panies have  been  drilliug  in  Maryland  and  in 
our  State  for  months  for  this  very  purpose ; 
they  only  await  the  signal  to  burst  in  and 
overwhelm  the  city." 

"Well,"  said  Mrs.  Manson,  "just  grant  us 
ladies  the  liberty,  and  we'll  give  the  signal, 
and  help  burn  the  city  too.  Why,  Washing- 
ton has  more  people  within  its  walls  that  be- 
lieve in  secession  than  the  opposite." 


TROUBLE   IN   THE   MANSION.  151 

"  I  reckon  it  has,"  replied  Mr.  Mauson,  "  and 
when  two  or  three  thousand  of  our  Virginians 
planned  to  seize  the  arsenal  at  Harper's  Ferry, 
supply  themselves  with  weapons  and  ammuni- 
tion, descend  the  Potomac  to  Washington,  and 
make  a  fierce  assault  on  the  city,  our  sympa- 
thizers were  there  in  strong  force  and  well 
armed;  but  we  were  basely  betrayed,  and 
we've  got  the  work  to  do  over  again,  starting 
from  some  other  point." 

"  There  have  been  lots  of  reverses  and  dis- 
appointments for  us,"  said  Mrs.  Manson. 
"We  women  fully  expected  that  the  North 
would  have  been  conquered  long  ere  this. 
Now  it's  'four  mortal  long  months  since  the  war 
began,  and  the  Yankees  seem  as  far  from  be- 
ing subdued  as  ever.  And  we  are  really  suffer- 
ing in  our  circumstances  from  the  spoil  which 
our  leaders  promised  us  when  they  returned 
victorious  from  invading  the  North.  I've  'lot- 
ted on  elegant  dresses  and  jewelry,  but  I 
have  not  yet  got  a  glimpse  of  them.  Now 
I   want   to  ask  you,  husband,  if  you  *  don't 


152  THE  rooR  white. 


mean  to  join  Jeffs  army,  and  help  on  the 
fio^htinor?" 

^'Me,  wife  !  me  !  Do  3-011  realize  what  3'ou 
ask?  Why,  I  am,  as  I  always  have  been,  my 
own  overseer  ;  if  I  was  to  leave,  the  plantation 
w^ould  go  to  rack  and  ruin ;  your  life  would 
be  in  danger ;  the  people  would  rise  and 
murder  you ;  I  cannot  think  of  leaving  my 
business,  and  devoting  you  to  destruction  !  " 

"  But  somebody  must  light,"  said  Mrs. 
Manson,  "i£  all  made  excuses,  the  Xorthern- 
ers  would  soon  overcome  us.  I  only  wish  I 
was  a  man,  I'd  be  a  soldier  at  once." 

"It's  easy  to  talk,"  replied  ]\Ir.  Manson ; 
"but  the  doing  you'd  find  quite  a  different 
thin^." 

"But  if  we  do  not  c?o,  all  is  lost,"  said  the 
wife.  "  I  wish  Frank  and  Hal  were  old  enough  ; 
I'd  send  them  into  the  army  this  very  day." 

"You  would?"  said  Mr.  Manson;  "and  if  I 
went,  what  you  gwiue  to  do  with  yourself  on 
the  plantation  ?  Do  }'ou  dare  stay  here  with 
this  large  force  of  servants  around  you  ?  " 


TROUBLE    IN    THE   MANSION.  153 


"If  it  isn't  safe,"  replied  Mrs.  Manson,  "of 
course  1  should  not,  for  the  sake  of  the  chil- 
dren. 1  should  manage  to  get  a  pass,  and  re- 
move North  until  this  war  is  over." 

"  IIow  could  you  be  safe  there  ?  "  asked  Mr. 
Manson. 

"Oh,  I  should  disguise  myself,  and  do  as 
the  Northerners  do,  and  you  wouldn't  know 
me  at  all,  I  should  be  so  changed." 

Mrs.  Manson  was  interrupted  by  the  en- 
trance of  the  old  nurse,  Abby,  who  came  to 
ask  where  were  Chainy  and  the  little  boys, 
Hal  and  Frank. 

"How  should  I  know?"  asked  Mrs.  Man- 
son.  "It's  Chainy's  business  to  entertain  them, 
and  if  she  is  as  trusty  as  she  was  recommend- 
ed to  be,  she  will  bring  them  in  safe  and 
sound  directly.  Go  and  call  her,  Abby,  and 
tell  her  to  bring  the  children  to  me." 

The  servant  went  to  do  her  bidding,  and 
came  back  shortly  to  say  that  neither  Chainy 
nor  the  children  could  be  found. 

"Bless   my  life,  Beverly  !  "  exclaimed  Mrs. 


154  THE   rOOR   WHITE. 


Manson,  "  where  can  those  children  be  ?     Do 
you  suppose  that  Chainy  is  really  trusty  ?  " 

"  Of  course  she  is,"  was  the  reply.  "  Uncle 
Nelson  warmly  recommended  her  as  a  good 
nurse  for  children,  and  as  faithful  as  the  day 
is  long." 

"  But  what  has  she  done  with  Frank  and 
Hal?"  asked  Mrs.  Manson. 

"  Oh,  they're  safe  enough,  trust  me  for 
that,"  said  Mr.  Manson ;  "  they'll  be  in  direct- 
ly ;  "  and  taking  his  hat  he  stepped  out,  and 
cjilling  two  or  three  of  the  servants  to  help 
him,  commenced  the  search  ;  for  he  was  really 
as  much  startled  as  his  wife. 

An  hour  was  spent  in  looking  through  the 
park,  but  to  no  avail.  Mr.  Manson  now  re- 
turned to  the  house  and  had  it  thoroughly 
searched  from  attic  to  cellar ;  but  no  Frank 
and  Hal  could  be  found.  Mrs.  Manson  became 
much  alarmed,  and  walked  her  room,  wringing 
her  hands  and  crying  violently. 

"  Oh,  my  precious  boys  !  Yf  here  can  they 
be  ?     My  boys  !    my  boys  !  " 


TROUBLE   IN   THE   MANSION.  155 


Mr.  Miinson  aroused  his  neighbors  for  miles 
distant,  and  the  search  was  kept  up  all  night; 
and  for  days  and  nights  afterward,  while  the 
poor  mother  mourned  herself  sick,  refusing  to 
be  comforted. 

Did  not  conscience  whisper  in  those  sad, 
dreadful  hours  that  this  was  but  a  righteous 
retribution?  And  was  she  not  haunted  with 
visions  of  weeping  slave  mothers,  when  their 
children  w^ere  torn  from  them  to  be  sold  ? 


jM^ 


XIII. 

In  Jeff's   Army. 

CO  return  to  Sam  and  his  father.     The 
trader  had  intently  watched  the  moving 
scene,  and  now  drew  nearer,  asking,  — 

"How  came  you  to  enlist,  friend?  " 

"I  didn't  enlist,"  replied  Dean.  "I  was 
walkin'  'long,  a  right  smart  piece  from  hum, 
with  my  budget  on  my  back,  when  a  man 
rode  up  with  bright  buttons  an'  shinin'  shoul- 
der-straps, an'  sez  he, — 

*^ '  This  way,  man  !  — this  Avay  to  camp  ! ' 
.«SezI,  ^What?' 

"  Sez  he,  *  If  you  want  suthin'  good  to  eat, 
this  way ! ' 

"I  was  right  smart  hungry,  an'  as  he  seemed 
ready  to  obleege  me,  I  jest  went  with  him. 
We  turned  off  the  road  a  leetle  ways,  an' 
there  was  lots  of  cabhis  made  of  cloth,  which 

156 


IN   JEFF'S    ARMr.  157 

they  called  camps.  The  man  showed  me  into 
oue  of  'em,  where  he  said  were  the  recruits, 
an'  said  he,  ^  Jest  make  yerself  to  hum,  for 
you're  a  soldier  in  Jelly's  army  ! ' 

"  I  never  was  so  beat  in  all  my  life  !  Me  a 
soldier?  I  didn't  know  nothin'  'bout  %htin'. 
I  told  him  so  ;  but  he  said.  No  matter ;  I 'could 
larn.  Arter  dinner  he  said  he'd  drill  us.  I 
didn't  know  what  he  meant;  but  the  corn- 
bread  an'  bacon  tasted  right  smart  good  for  all 
that. 

"^What's  the  fightin'  for?'  said  I  to  the 
next  man.     *  Who  you  fightin'  with  ? ' 

" '  Whar's  you  raised,' said  he,  'that  you 
don't  know  ?  Why,  hi !  we're  in  fur  killin' 
off  the  Yankees,  an'  takin'  Washington,  an' 
puttin'  Jeff  Davis  into  the  White  House.' 

"  '  Oh,  yes  ! '  said  I,  pertending  to  rec'lect ; 
but  that's  the  uist  news  I  had  of  the  war. 

"  They  gin  me  a  gun,  an'  set  us  to  walkin' 
up  an'  down,  which  they  called  marching. 
Everything  was  so  new.  I'd  started  out  to 
look  up  Sam  an'  Lottie,  an'  I  didn't  relish 


158  THE    POOR   WHITE. 


bein'  turned  out  of  my  course.  So  ouc  night 
when  they  put  me  on  guard,  I  jist  walked  off; 
an'  arter  hidui'  daytimes,  an'  travellin'  nights, 
I  got  aboard  a  canal  boat,  —  a  trader  takiu' 
pity  on  me,  an'  brought  me  up  here.  I  leetle 
thought  I  should  lind  Sam  so  easy.  Now, 
if  on'y  Lotty  could  be  found,  I'd  be  con- 
tent." 

"Xow,  dad,  can't  we  be  gwine  hum?"  asked 
Sam. 

"I  reckon  we  can,"  said  Mr.  Dean,  "fur  we 
must  travel  nio-hts  to  ait  shed  of  the  soldiers. 
We'll  git  ready  an  start  right  off ! "  and  he 
turned  inquiringly  to  the  trader. 

"That's  it,"  said  Kize  Carter,  "if  you  must 
go  ;  but  why  don't  you  stay  here  an'  saund  for 
your  family  ?  —  no  better  place  to  git  a  livin' 
in  than  this  are  swamp." 

*'Wal,"  said  Mr.  Dean,  "thft's  jist  as  the 
woman  sez,  —  couldn't  think  of  sech  a  thing 
without  consultin'  her." 

"Wal,  ef  ye  must  go,"  said  the  trader,  "I 
reckon  Cretia  an'  I  ken  fit  ye  off !     She'll  tote 


IN  Jeff's  army.  159 

ye  down  the  canal  in  her  boat,  and  ye  ken  git 
on  a  right  smart  piece  afore  mornin'." 

The  fitting  off  was  here  quite  suddenly  in- 
terrupted by  the  growling  of  the  dog,  and  by 
the  appearance  of  a  rebel  scout  at  the  door. 

"  Halloa,  Carter !  "  said  he  ;  "  I've  jist  called 
to  have  you  report  yourself.  What's  your  oc- 
cypation,  age,  prospects?" 

"Them's  putty  questions  to  put  to  me  !  "  re- 
plied the  swamp-merchant.  "  I  know  you,  — 
you  and  I  used  to  be  old  conies;  you're 
only  a  poor  white,  if  you  doos  try  to  strut  a 
soldier." 

"  I  aint  nuther,"  said  the  scout ;  "  I'se  one 
of  Jeff's  soldiers.  I  aint  a  poor  white  no 
more.  Don't  I  have  rations,  an'  wages?  I'm 
my  own  man,  Kize,  what  arns  his  livin',  an' 
supports  my  fam'ly." 

"An'  do  you  mean  to  tell  me,"  said  Carter, 
"that  you  gits  pay  for  comin'  out  here  an' 
pokin'  your  nose  intow  my  affairs  ! " 

"I'se  only  doin'  my  duty,  an'  lookin'  out  foi 
Jeffs  business  consarns,"  replied  the  intruder. 


IGO  THE    POOR   AVHITE. 


*'  Come  uow,  Carter,  own  up ;  what's  the 
arthly  use  of  your  livin'  out  here  with  these 
are  mortal  bii?  skeeters,  an'  with  them  are 
hootiu'  an'  scrcechin'  owls,  and  the  frogs  tun- 
in'  up  so,  an'  whar  the  panthers  cry  like  a 
child,  an'  the  b'ars  have  their  hums.  Xow, 
Kize,  it  stands  to  natur'  that  you  wouldn't 
live  out  here  so  cf  it  didn't  pa^^  somehow. 
Come,  now,  tell  us.       How  do  you  do  it?" 

The  swamiD-merchant  kept  on  smoking 
his  pipe  for  a»  moment,  then  slowly  rising, 
said,  — 

"It's  none  of  your  business,  Jeff's  boot- 
black ! "  and  taking  down  his  gun  from  its 
rack  over  the  fireplace,  he  turned  toward  the 
scout,  who,  being  a  sickly,  pallid,  nervous 
man,  by  this  time  trembled  like  a  leaf. 

"  What  you  gwine  to  do  ?  "  asked  the  scout. 

*^Hold  on  there,"  replied  Carter,  as  he 
loaded  his  gun,  "  an'  I'll  show  you  what.  I'm 
jist  gwine  to  lam  3*ou  to  mind  your  own  busi- 
ness." 

"  Now,    Kize,    don't  I  "   pleaded   the    poor 


IN  JEFF'S  AKMY.  161 

white.  "I'm  friendly,  an'  only  did  it  for  fun 
like.  Don't  kill  me.  I  don't  want  to  spy 
you  out.  I'll  tell  the  Secesh  I  couldn't  find 
hide  nor  hair  of  ye,  an'  I  heered  you  was 
killed  last  year.  That's  a  good  fellar,  Eoze ; 
let  me  go  this  time,  an'  I'll  never  trouble  you 
ag'in!" 

Meanwhile  the  gun  of  the  swamp-merchant 
was  steadily  pointed  at  the  miserable  creature 
before  him,  who  felt  that  he  was  staring  death 
in  the  face. 

"I  wont  kill  you  this  time,"  said  Carter, 
slowly,  "you  is  so  mortal  scart;  but  remem- 
ber, if  you  ever  interfere  with  my  consarns 
ag'in,  it'll  be  the  last  of  your  business.  It's  a 
poor  story  if  a  man  what's  clean  gon^.in  the 
galloping  consumption  can't  foller  a  doctor's 
descriptions,  an'  come  out  intow  the  country  to 
susticate,  an'  fat  up  like.  It's  a  poor  story,  I 
r.eckon,  if  he  can't  do  it  without  you  miser- 
able patrol  soldiers  a-doggin'  his  heels." 

"  That's  so  1  that's  so  ! "  replied  the  scout, 
rejoiced  to  escape  so  easily.      "  I'll  go  back 


ji. 


162  THE   rOOR   WHITE. 


to  Johnson  an'  report  you  aint  nowhere  to  be 
found  in  the  land  of  the  livin' !  " 

"That'll  do  !"  replied  the  merchant.  "Xow 
you  jist  keep  guard  on  the  canal  for  the  niirlit, 
an'  if  some  of  my  family  takes  a  boat-ride, 
you'll  let  'em  pass  in  safety, — you  under- 
stand, —  and  see  no  harm  comes  to  'emi" 

"Yes,  Kize,  in  course.  I'll  do  anything 
reasonable  to  'bleege  ye." 

"You  owe  your  life  to  ine,  you  know,"  said 
the  merchant. 

"  Yis,  I  does  so  !  "  was  the  reply. 

"Putty  business,  for  a  man  to  turn  ag'in  his 
own  friends,  jis'  'cause  flicre's  a  war,"  con- 
tinued  the  merchant ;  but  the  scout  was  gone. 

All  WAS  bustle  for  an  hour  or  two,  until  the 
three  were  fitted  off,  when  the  trader,  shut- 
ting the  door,  and  drawing  his  chair  toward 
the  fireplace,  where  the  brands  were  smoking, 
to  keep  off  the  musquitoes,  went  on  with  his 
talk. 

"As  I  was  sayin',"  said  he,  "this  are  swamp 
is  a  master  good  place  to  hide  in,  an'  git  a 


IN   JEFF'S   ARMY.  163 

livin' ;  'tis  so  !  we'se  all  diskivered  that.  If 
only  the  Secesh  an'  the  Unions  would  keep 
out  of  it,  we  poor  whites  would  continer  to 
git  a  chance  here  to  git  our  heads  above  water, 
an'  breathe  a  bit.  You  slave  folks  comes  out 
here  an'  gits  free,  an'  as  for  the  sojers  as  don't 
beleeve  in  Jeff,  they  has  a  chance,  too,  as  you 
see.  There's  Sam's  father ;  he  got  off  slick ; 
didn't  he?" 

The  maroon  was  just  then  thinking  of  his 
mother  and  the  sick  children  in  the  lodge, 
and  did  not  answer. 

"I  think,  myself,  he  better  be  a  soldier  than 
a  poor  white,"  Carter  continued,  "with  noth- 
in'  to  do,  and  nothin'  to  eat ;  but  a  man  wants 
to  consider  a  thing,  an'  not  be  forced  to  fight 
till  he  gits  ready.  But  I  tell  you,  stranger, 
I  reckon  there's  no  end  to  human  nature,  an' 
I  reckon  it's  on  the  increase ;"  and  after  this 
sentiment,  he  puffed  away  in  silence,  the  ma- 
roon dreamily  looking  in  the  fire. 

"  Master  cute  fellars,"  the  trader  began 
again,  "  some  of  these  are  swamp-men  is,  as 


164  THE   POOR   WHITE. 

very  probably  you  has  the  means  of  knowiii'. 
Anyhow,  they  has  wit  enough  to  git  their 
own  livin',  an'  a  fat  one,  too,  an'  that's  more'u 
can  be  said  of  everybody  in  this  are  world. 

"A  man's  to  be  measured  ))y  what  he  does, 
I  reckon,  and  not  by  what  he  sez.  A  man 
may  talk  'bout  business  all  the  days  of  his 
life,  an  yit  be  beholden  to  other  folks'  work 
for  clothes  an'  fodder,  an'  what  does  all  his 
talk  amount  to?  'Cordin'  to  my  reck'nin', 
that  man,  if  he's  as  rich  as  a  king,  haint  got 
nothin'  tow  brag  on,  an'  that's  whar  most  all 
the  Confederates  is.  Brag  is  a  good  dog; 
but  Hold-on  is  better.  He  don't  besfin  tow 
stand  as  high,  in  my  disteem,  as  the  slave  as 
runs  away,  builds  him  a  calnn,  and  gits  a 
good  free  livin'  in  the  woods.  I'm  bound  to 
respect  the  man  that  snuffs  up  his  nose  at  the 
idea  of  bein'  bouo'ht  an'  sold  like  a  boss  I     He 

CD 

owes  it  to  himself  an'  his  children  to  'scape  if 
he  can." 

The  maroon  nodded  assent,  and  the  mer- 
chant continued. 


IN  Jeff's  army.  165 


"  Now  there's  them  of  your  color  as  capable 
of  cloin'  business,  an'  takiu'  care  of  'emselves, 
an'  lightin',  as  any  of  my  color.  There's  no 
dispute  'bout  that ;  an'  the  Lord  he  gives  'em 
a  chance,  when  he  builds  such  places  as  this 
swamp.  It's  their  duty  to  git  clar  if  they  can, 
in  my  reckonin'.  I'll  help  all  I  can  to  the 
woods,  and  trade  with  them  after  they  gits 
there, — that's  in  my  line,  you  know.  An' 
it's  my  'pinion  they'll  git  a  chance  to  do  some 
fightin'  on  their  own  'count  'fore  this  are  war 
is  over." 

The  maroon  smiled,  and  the  trader  con- 
tinued, slightly  changing  the  subject. 

"  Didn't  I  saund  that  are  fellar  back  to  his 
regiment  off  the  track?  But  you  see  it  mout 
not  do  for  me  tow  show  my  head  too  much 
down  there  in  Norfolk,  an'  how'd  3^ou  reckon 
I  works  it?"  and  the  trader  puffed  smoke  a 
moment,  waiting  for  a  reply,  and  then  said, 
"Wal,  you  see,  Cretia  sez  to  me  one  day, — 

"'I  don't  want  you  to  go  to  Norfolk  no 
more.'     An'  sez  I,  'Why  not?'     An'  sez  she, 


1G6  THE    POOU   -WHITE. 


^I'ln  afeered  they'll  put  you  intow  the  jail,  oi- 
make  you  go  an'  fight,  an'  I  sha'n't  see  you 
no  more.' 

"'Nonsense!'  sez  I,  ^  no  fears  o'  that.  I 
shall  go  tow  Norfolk  when  I  has  business  thar, 
I  reckon.' 

" '  Don't  now,  dad  ! '  sez  Cretia. 

"*But,'  sez  I,  'what  upon  arth  you  reckon 
we'll  live  on,  if  I  2:its  shed  of  tradin'?  It'll 
be  fried  frogs  all  the  time,  an'  delicade  as  that 
are  livin'  is,  we  shall  git  sick  on't,  you  may 
depend.' 

" '  We  shall  live  well  nuff,'  said  Cretia.  '  I'll 
use  my  bow  and  arrows  more.  I  ken  hit  any- 
thing that  runs  or  flies,  an'  we  shall  git  'long 
jist  as  well  as  we  do  now.' 

"  S'pozin'  we  do,'  said  I;  'what'll  our  cus- 
tomers do  as  lives  in  the  woods?  What'U 
they  do  with  their  staves  an'  shingles  ?  AVho'll 
buy  'em,  an'  tote  'em  back  corn-beef,  bacon, 
codfish,  an'  clothes?  Jist  tell  me  that,  Cre- 
tia, if  you  ken  ! ' 

"  She  kuowed  the  rest  of  the  traders  had  as 


IN  Jeff's  army.  167 


much  as  they  could  clo ;  but  Cretia  aint  tow 
be  beat  for  expedients,  an'  she  thought  half 
a  minute,  and  then  sez  she,  *I'll  take  my 
canoe,  hide  it  in  the  alders,  git  a  load  to- 
gether, an  row  down  the  canal  by  night. 
You  keu  tell  me  whar  you  trade,  an'  I  ken 
do  the  business  jist  as  well  as  you  ken.' 
Wal,  I  seed  the  gal  was  in  the  right  on't,  so 
I  let  the  critter  have  her  own  way,  an'  a  fust- 
rate  trader  she  is  too.  She  wears  varus 
dresses  at  varus  times,  an'  don't  git  to  look 
familiar,  an'  nobody  don't  'spect  her,  an'  them 
are  rebel  pickets  from  the  poor  whites  winks 
an'  lets  her  pass,  bein'  she's  a  woman.  She's 
a  right  smart  trader,  she  is,  an'  I  alus  lets  the 
big  dog  go  with  her  for  comp'ny." 

The  trader  glanced  at  the  maroon,  who  was 
now  asleep,  and  he  suddenly  bethought  him 
that  it  was  late,  and  he  himself  was  sleepy  ;  so 
arousing  his  guest,  he  conducted  him  to  his 
room,  and  was  soon  dreaming-  of  Cretia  and 
her  passengers. 

Mr.  Dean   and   Sam  reached   home  after 


168  THE   POOR   WHITE. 

nearly  a  week's  wandering,  having  often  lost 
their  way. 

They  came  up  the  road  in  the  pine  wood, 
one  evening,  just  as  the  children  were  driving 
home  the  goat. 

"Why,  hi !"  exclaimed  Tomtit,  "there's  our 
Sam,  an  dad  too  !  "  and  then  there  was  such  a 
scampering,  a  halloaing  and  screaming  as 
made  Mr.  Dean  feel  quite  young  again,  and 
brought  Mrs.  Dean  out  of  the  door  to  see 
what  was  the  matter. 

"  Halloa,  marm  I  "  shouted  Sam,  darting 
away  from  a  group  of  four,  who  were  clinging 
to  him  for  joy. 

"Why,  Sammy!  Sammy!"  cried  Mrs. 
Dean,  kissing  him,  and  wiping  her  tears  with 
the  corner  of  her  apron,  and  then  turned  to 
welcome  her  husband.  Goaty  looked  very 
knowing,  and  brushed  up  against  the  new- 
comers, pet  fashion,  as  if  to  attract  her  share 
of  attention. 

It  was  a  happy  family,  that  night,  that 
gathered  around  the  table,  spread  with  plenty 


IN   JEFF'S    ARMY.  169 

of  ash  pone  and  buttermilk ;  the  only  draw- 
back was,  AVhere  can  Lottie  be?  After  sup- 
per j\Irs.  Dean  called  the  family  to  prayers, 
saying,  — 

"  God  will  hear,  and  send  us  Lottie  !  '* 


J'^ 


XIV. 

What  befell  the  Daisy. 

UT  where  is  Lottie,  meanwhile? 

The  brave  girl  made  good  progress  the 
morning  on  which  she  set  out,  issuing  from  the 
ten-mile  wood  about  eleven  o'clock.  She  had 
followed  the  sandy  cart-path  which  led  through 
it,  and  the  pine  barrens,  being  almost  ilestitutc 
of  underwood  and  flowers,  had  great  monotony. 
Mile  after  mile,  it  was  the  same  dull  level. 
When  she  reached  the  open  country,  the  sun 
poured  down  its  furnace  heat,  and  her  feet 
were  sore  with  the  hot  sand.  Lottie  thought 
nothing  'of  this,  however;  but  she  looked  at- 
tentively on  each  side  of  the  road,  and  often 
stopped  to  call,  hoping  to  find  her  brother, 
her  mother's  idea  that  he  w^ould  try  to  escape, 
and  perhaps  be  wounded  and  left  for  dead  in 
the  attempt,  fully  possessing  her  mind. 


AVHAT   BEFELL   THE   DAISY.  171 

"  Oh  how  I  wi'sh  I  could  find  him !"  she 
sighed.-  "If  there  was  only  a  breath  of  life  in 
him,  I'd  git  a  wagoner  to  tote  him  hum,  an' 
he'd  git  well,  I  make  sure  !  " 

Stopping  to  bathe  her  feet  in  a  run  of  water 
that  crossed  the  road,  she  found  them  blis- 
tered, but  still  she  kept  on. 

A  little  after  noon  she  was  overtaken  by  a 
slave,  named  Ben,  with  a  load  of  wood,  drawn 
by  mules. 

"Why,  he!"  said  he,  "who's  runnin'  off 
now?" 

Lottie  looked  up  in  surprise,  and  Ben,  a 
bright-looking,  good-natured  negro  of  twenty, 
added,  "I  begs  yer  pardon,  Miss,  you  kep' 
yer  head  down,  an'  I  said  to  myse'f,  'pears  like 
dish  sher  is  some  poor  slave-woman,  an'  I'll 
jest  give  her  a  lift  an'  let  her  ride  a  piece  ;  but 
as  you  is  a  poor  white,  you  is  jist  as  welcome 
to  a  seat  in  my  wagon." 

Lottie  wondered  how  he  knew  she  was  a 
poor  white,  for  she  thought  herself  nicely 
dressed  ;  having  seen  nothing  of  the  world,  she 


172  THE   rOOR    WHITE. 

was  puzzled  to  account  for  the  discovery  of 
her  parentage. 

"Imade"feure,"  said  she  to  herself,  "  I'd  be 
tooken  for  a  born  lady.  Didn't  my  own  moth- 
er say  I  looked  putty  as  a  daisy  ? —  an'  sure  she 
ought  to  know  !  "  but  Lottie  was  too  wear}^  to 
be  fastidious,  and  gladly  took  a  seat  beside 
slave  Ben,  on  the  small  load  of  wood.  It  was 
noon,  she  was  tired  and  hungry,  and  worst 
of  all,  she  had  found  no  trace  of  Sam.  Ben 
whistled  and  sung  as  his  mules  plodded  on, 
seemingly  forgetting  Lottie's  presence. 

"How  fur  you  gwine?"  at  length  he  asked. 

"I'm  gwine  till  I  finds  my  brother  Sam," 
replied  Lottie. 

"Where  does  he  live?"  inquired  Ben. 

"  I  dun  know ;  we  'spect  he's  toted  off  by 
de  nigger-buyer." 

"You  does  !  "  said  Ben,  feeliugl}',  "  dat's  bad 
case  — bery  bad.  How  you  gwine  to  git  him 
back?" 

"  I  dun  know  ;  I  pray  the  Lord  tow  help  me. 
Sam '11  fight  an'  run  away,  afore  he'll  be  a  slave, 


.  WHAT  BEFELL   THE   DAISY.  173 


an'  I  reckon  I'll  meet  him  on  the  road  some- 
wheres  ;  p'r'aps  he'll  be  cut  up  an'  sick,  an'  he'll 
need  me 'to  take  care  of  him." 

"  How's  you  gwine  to  catch  him  ?  The  slave- 
buyer  drive  right  smart  fast." 

"I  dun  know;  I'll  do  all  I  ken,"  replied 
Lottie,  sadly. 

"  You  know  which  way  the  dealer  went  ?  " 
asked  Ben. 

"  He  ask  the  way  to  Turner's  Cross  Roads ; 
I  'spect  he  go  South,"  said  Lottie. 

"  Dat's  probable,"  said  Ben.  "  He'll  stop  to 
Washinijton  Court  House,  where  dere  am  a 
jail ;  dey  puts  de  slaves  in  dere." 

"  How  fur  is  that  from  here  ?  " 

"Right  smart  of  a  journey,"  replied  Ben; 
"  take  you  a  week  to  go  dere  if  you  walks 
rapid." 

"It  will?  "  asked  Lottie,  in  dismay. 

"Datitwill;  but  I'll  whip  up  my  mules,  an' 
tote  you  right  smart  of  a  piece  of  the  way. 
Massa  he  wont  know,  'cause,  ye  see,  he  gone  to 
de  war." 


174  THE    POOR   WHITE. 

"The  war!  "asked  Lottie,  ^'where's  that?" 

"  Why,  hi !.  dou't  you  kuow?  Where  you 
been  liviu',  you  no  har  de  nevrs?"  said  Ben, 
compassionating  her  ignorance.  "De  war's 
been  ragin'  dese  four  montlis  ever  since  de 
'federates  tried  to  take  Fort  Sumter  last 
April.     You  heered  of  dat,  I  reckon." 

"  Xo,  I  haiut  heered  nothin',"  replied  Lottie  ; 
'' but  what'll  the  war  do ?    Will  it  hurt  Sam?  " 

"  Dun  know ;  nobody  dun  know  what's 
gwine  to  come  ob  dish  sher  war.  Some  ob  de 
colored  preachers  say  'taint  de  massa's  war, 
'taint  de  Yankee's  war,  but  de  Lord's  war ;  an' 
he's  gwine  to  make  de  crooked  ways  strait,  an' 
p'r'aps,  when  it  over,  all  de  slaves  be  free  ! 
Who  knows ?  Dat's  what  de  pra^in'  ones  has 
been  pray  in'  for." 

"I've  heard  my  mother  say  she  reckoned 
the  Lord  he'd  hear  their  prayers  sometime," 
said  Lottie  ;  "  but  I  didn't  reckon  it  would  be 
quite  so  soon.  Has  your  master  gone  to  the 
war?" 

"  Dat  he  has  I    Vriiy ,  hi !  he's  the  colonel  of 


WHAT  BEFELL  THE   DAISY.  175 

a  regiment.     Col.  William  King  is  my  massa. 
You  heard  of  the  King  family  " — 

"  No,"  replied  Lottie,  "  I  reckon  not." 

"  Where  in  de  land  you  raised  dat  you  neb- 
er  har  ob  dat  family — fustest  in  de  State  of 
Caroliny?" 

"  How  you  git  'long  without  your  master  ?  " 
asked  Lottie,  changing  the  subject. 

"Right  smart  jolly  —  good  times  —  missus 
she  do  her  bes'  to  keep  us  strait ;  but  I  takes 
some  little  rides  an'  journeys  on  my  own 
'count.  I  shall  tote  you  right  smart  of  a  piece 
dis  arternoon,  hoop  ho  !  "  and  he  stopped  his 
team  and  unloaded  his  wood.  "  De  mules 
dat  durable  dey  neber  mind  totin'you  a  piece. 
I  reckon  you  wont  find  Sam,  right  smart  rap- 
id ;  but  if  you'se  bound  tow  go  arter  him,  I'se 
bound  tow  tote  you  on  a  piece  ;  dat's  doin'  as 
I'd  be  done  by,  an'  preacher  Bill  says  dat  is  a 
part  ob  religion.  Nobody  can't  git  to  heaven 
dat  don't  do  dat." 

"  I  reckon  you  is  right,"  said  Lottie,  undo- 
ing her  bundle  of  brogans  and  pone. 


176  THE   POOR   WHITE. 


"  Nuffiii'  better  dan  pone  to  eat  ?  "  exclaim- 
ed the  wagoner,  with  great  disgust.  "  Why, 
hi !  let  me  help  you  to  my  snack  !  "  and  Ben 
took  from  his  dinner-basket  pieces  of  cold 
turkey,  omelet  and  plum-pudding. 

Lottie  was  too  urprised  to  speak,  but 
looked  at  Ben  as  much  as  to  say,  "  AYhere  did 
you  get  all  tGis  ?  " 

"  Here  is  what  the  cook  give  me  —  it's  lef  of 
missus'  dinner  3'esterday.  Massa  he  done 
gone,  and  dere  aint  so  much  comp'ny  at  the 
house  as  dere  was,  an'  dere's  more  food  for  de 
house  servants.  Cook  William  is  a  friend  of 
mine,  an'  he  'members  me  arter  dinner." 

Lottie  ate  a  little  of  each  kind  that  was 
placed  before  her ;  but  it  was  little  that  she 
could  eat,  so  different  was  it  from  her  accus- 
tomed food.  Ben  urged  on  his  team,  that  he 
might  make  the  greatest  distance  possible  that 
day.  His  aim  was  to  reach  a  landing  on  the 
Black  Water  River,  a  branch  of  the  Chowan, 
that  Lottie  might  take  the  steamer  down  to 
Winton,  some  forty  miles  distant. 


^^IIAT   BEFELL   THE    DAISY.  177 

Once,  as  they  neared  a  rebel  camp,  one  of 
the  pickets  challenged  him. 

"  "Who  are  you,  and  where  are  you  bound  ?  " 

Ben  was  ready.      "  Dish  sher  young  lady,  a 

Maravian,   an'  kin  to  massa's  family.     I  jist 

totin'  her  on  her  way  a  piece  to  her  school. 

She's  the  'markabllst  teacher." 

The  picket  was  satisfied,  for  the  Moravian 
sisters  of  North  Carolina  are  in  high  repute, 
and  pride  themselves  on  plain  dress. 

Ben  now  began  to  prepare  Lottie's  mind  for 
a  ride  in  a  steamboat.  She  could  not  be 
made  to  realize  much  about  it,  and  would  rather 
have  gone  on  afoot. 

"But  you  must  move  rapid,"  said  Ben. 
"If  you  gits  to  Washington  before  the  slave- 
dealer  with  his  gang,  you  can  look  around  and 
see  Sam  when  he  comes,  an'  p'r'aps  git  a 
chance  to  sly  him  off  when  de  buyer  don't  see 
ye." 

Puff,  puff,  snort,  snort,-—  quite  a  fuss  the 
steamer  "Fox"  made  letting  off  steam  as  she 
prepared  to  start  on  her  accustomed  run  down 

12 


178  THE   POOR   TNTTTTE. 

the  Black  Water  Eiver  —  a  deep,  narrow, 
winding  stream — through  a  region  of  swamps. 

"  What  is  that  dreadful  noise  ?  "  asked  Lot- 
tie, in  alarm. 

"  Oh,"  replied  Ben,  laughing,  "  don't  you 
know  ?     Why,  that's  the  little  '  Fox ' ! " 

"The  little  fox!"  exclaimed  Lottie.  "I 
should  think  it  was  a  right  smart  big  fox,  to 
make  such  a  noise  as  that." 

Ben  could  not  repress  his  mirth,  and  snort, 
snort,  puff,  puff,  whif,  whif,  went  the  steamer. 

"It  must  be  as  big  as  an  ox,"  continued 
Lottie,  her  eyes  large  with  wonder  and  alarm ; 
"an'  I'm  afeard  it  will  eat  us  up." 

"  No  danger,"  replied  Ben ;  "  it's  the  best- 
natured  fox  you  ever  see,  jist  as  tame  as  a  cat, 
an'  it'll  let  you  ride  on  its  back." 

"Oh,  I  shouldn't  dare  to  do  it." 

"He,  he!  ha,  ha!  yes,  you  will,  an'  you 
must,  too,  for  it's  the  only  way  you  ken  git 
down  the  river." 

"I  ken  go  afoot,"  said  Lottie,  shuddering  at 
the  new  dangers  of  the  way. 


WHAT   BEFELL   THE   DAISY.  179 


"  Why,  hi !  kcii  you  wade  ? "  asked  Ben. 
"This  are  river's  right  smart  deep." 

"  I'll  go  round  it,  then,"  said  Lottie. 

"  That's  umpossible,"  replied  Ben,  "these  are 
swamps  is  dat  sloppy;  j^ou'd  git  mired,  an' 
that'd  be  the  last  of  you,  —  no  gittin'  you  out, 
you  see." 

"What  ken  I  do?"  asked  Lottie,  in  real 
trouble. 

"  Git  aboard  of  the  little ' Fox,' "  replied  Ben  ; 
"  there  she  is  ;  "  and  at  this  instant  they  came 
in  sight  of  the  spruce  steamer.  Lottie's  sur- 
prise was  as  great  as  that  of  the  Indians  of 
Hispaniola,  when  they  beheld  the  ships  of 
Columbus,  thinking  them  birds  of  heaven, 
with  large  flapping  wings.  This  fox  was  the 
strangest  animal  in  her  eyes.  Where  did 
it  come  from?  Who  found  it?  What  an  odd- 
shaped  thing ! 

These  and  other  like  thoughts  passed 
through  the  young  girl's  mind,  as  Ben  tAirned 
his  mules'  heads  to  a  halter-post  to  fasten 
them,  for  they,  too,  did  not  quite  approve  of 


180  THE  POOR  ^^*raTE. 


so  much  noise  from  the  little  "Fox."  The 
fiiithful  wagoner  then  guided  her  to  the  pLuik 
which  stretched  from  the  boat  to  the  wharf, 
and  sayiuof  a  o^ood  word  for  her  to  the  steward- 
ess,  a  fat  negress  named  Susan,  Lottie  fouud 
herself  ushered  into  the  snug  cabin,  iu  the 
stomach  of  the  little  fox.  She  thought  of  Jo- 
nah in  the  whale's  belly, —  for  her  mother 
knew  the  story, —  and  wondered  if  she  would 
be  in  danger  of  being  thrown  up  in  like  man- 
ner.    Turning  to  ask  Ben,  he  was  gone. 

Lottie  was  really  frightened  at  this,  for  uow 
the  boat  with  an  unearthly  scream,  or  shriek- 
ing whistle,  as  if  uniting  all  hideous  sounds, 
rounded  out  into  the  river.  She  felt  the  mo- 
tion ;  she  was  being  carried  off  by  a  dread- 
ful wild  beast,  called  a  fox.  Starting  up,  she 
gave  a  cry  of  distress,  and  tried  to  force  her 
way  up  the  stairs ;  but  fat  Susan,  who  made 
them  her  throne,  was  quite  too  much  for 
her. 

'*  Why,  hi !  3'ou  mus'  be  drunk  ;  "  said  she, 
"  what  you  gwine  to  do  ?  " 


WHAT    BEFELL    TIJE    DAISY.  181 


"  Oh,  let  me  get  out !  let  mc  get  out !  "  cried 
Lottie. 

"  Hush,  honey  !  "  replied  Susan,  soothingly  ; 
"  we're  gwinc  down  the  river  a  piece  to  Win- 
ton,  then  you  shall  git  out,  for  'pears  like  you 
can't  pay  your  flire  further  than  that.  .The 
wagoner  gin  me  the  pay  for  Winton,  an' 
that's  all  the  change  he  had." 

"Did?"  asked  Lottie;  "an'  you  isn't 
afeard?" 

"Why,  hi!"  laughed  Susan,  "I'se  been 
down  the  river  over  an'  often,  and  no  harm 
haint  come  to  me  yit ;  an'  'pears  like  there 
wont  no  harm  come  to  such  a  lamb  as  you 
is." 

Lottie's  face  brightened.  Thus  far  she  had 
found  friends,  and  she  remembered  that  her 
mother  was  praying  for  her  and  took  comfort 
in  the  thought.  She  had  sunk  down  on  the 
lowest  stair,  at  the  stewardess's  feet,  and,  get- 
ting reassured,  began  to  look  around  the 
cabin.  All  at  once  she  was  startled  at  seeincr 
the  head  and  shoulders  of  a  strange-looking 


182  THE    rOOR   WHITE, 


girl,    wearing   a  shaker  bonnet  just  like  her 
own,  and  exclaimed, — 

"  Who  is  it  ?  Who  is  that  gal  cut  off  iu  the 
wall?" 

"The  land!"  cried  Siisan,  "didn't  you 
ne"^er  see  a  lookin'-glass  afore?  It's  yerself 
that  you  see  iu^ there." 

"  Is  ?  "  said  Lottie,  cautiously  getting  up  and 
examining  it,  with  all  the  curiosity  of  a  little 
child. 

"Why,  hi !  where  was  you  raised,  that  you 
didn't  never  see  a  lookiu'-glass  ?     Dis  comes  of 
bein'  a  poor  white.      'Pears  like  they  neber  * 
detain  to  lookin'-glasses  !    If  they  knew  how 
they  looks,  they'd  scrub  up,  I  reckon." 

Lottie  was  grieved  at  this  speech,  and  could 
not  reconcile  it  with  her  good  mother's  deci- 
sion, that  she  looked  like  a  daisy ;  and  kind- 
hearted  Susan  added, — 

"Neber  mind,  you  aintlike  de  res'  of  them 
trash;  you  is  a  Moravin,  'pears  like,"  and  a 
merry  twinkle  lit  up  the  eyes  of  the  stew- 
ardess. 


WHAT   BEFELL   THE   DAISY.  183 


Lottie  did  not  notice  it,  for  just  then  her 
thoughts  had  wandered  to  Sam,  and  she  was 
thinking,  "  Oh,  where  can  he  be  ?  When  shall  I 
find  him  ?  "  Her  anxiety  was  diverted,  how- 
ever, as  she  glanced  at  her  brogans,  which,  at 
Ben's  suggestion,  she  had  put  on  in  the  wag- 
on ;  they  were  admirable  in  her  eyes,  as  she 
sat  there  at  Susan's  feet  and  whiled  the  time 
until  the  bell  rung,  and  the  steam  screamed 
for  a  landing. 

"'Pears  like  we'se  'rived,"  said  Susan ;  "dish 
sher  river  is  de  Chowan,  an'  de  place  is  Win- 
ton.  Now,  honey,  de  res'  ob  de  passengers  is 
bound  to  take  care  ob  demselves  like,  an'  I'll 
see  to  you.  Come  right  arter  me  up  de  stars  ; 
de  little  *Fox'  stops  here  fifteen  minutes  to 
take  his  snack." 

Lottie  stared,  and  Susan  added  with  a  live- 
ly laugh,— 

"  That  means  to  take  in  wood  and  water. 
Come  right  over  the  plank ;  wait  a  bit, 
though,  I  mus'  put  you  up  a  snack,"  and  go- 
ing  to   the  storeroom,  she   returned   with  a 


184  THE    rOOR   WHITE. 


parcel  of  food,  and  the  two,  following  other 
passengers,  stepped  on  shore. 

"  I'se  gwinc  to  'treeeluce  you  to  Mrs.  Spiney, 
de  landlady  dat  keeps  de  hotel  through  de  trees 
yonder.  I  shall  call  yon  de  Moravin  teacher, 
as  Ben  did,  an'  3'ou  miis'n't  talk  much  ;  'pears 
like  you  is  de  likeness  of  de  teacher  when  you 
is  silent." 

Lottie  said  nothing,  because  she  did  not 
know  what  to  say,  and  wondering  how  she 
should  get  along,  feeling  awkward  and  bash- 
ful, walked  by  Susan's  side  the  few  rods 
which  brought  them  to  the  small  two-story 
house,  dignitied  with  the  name  of  hotel. 

"Dish  sher  de  Moravin  teacher,"  said  Su- 
san, aside  to  Mrs.  Spiney  ;  ''  she's  got  larnin*. 
She  wants  a  room,  an'  don't  want  to  be  dis- 
turbed like,  till  morning." 

"  Very  well,"  replied  the  bustling  landlady. 

''  Can  you  saund  her  on  to  Washington  to- 
morrow?" asked  Susan. 

"  My  carriage  runs  twent}^  miles  in  that  di- 
rection," replied  Mrs.  Spiney. 


WHAT    J5EEELL    THE    DAISY.  185 


"  Will  you  give  her  loclgin',  breakfast,  and 
saund  her  the  twenty  miles  and  charge  it  to 
my  account?"  said  Susan. 

"Yes,  indeed!"  replied  the  landlady.  "I 
have  not  forgotten  that  your  money  gave  me  a 
lift  when  I  was  in  trouble ;  I  will  gladly  make 
the  turn." 

"  Let  me  show  the  young  lady  to  her  room," 
said  Susan,  diplomatically. 

"  Certainly,"  replied  ther  hostess, — "  No.  4,  at 
the  head  of  the  stairs ; "  and  without  further 
ceremony  Lottie  was  ushered  out  of  sight  of 
curious  eyes. 

'^Dere,  honey,  I'se  done  de  bes'  I  could  wid 
ye.  Your  lodgin',  breakfas',  and  ride  twenty 
miles  to-morrow  is  all  paid  for.  Eat  your 
snack,  an'  go  to  bed,  an'  don't  talk  much  when 
you  go  down  to  breakfas'  in  the  mornin'.  If 
dey  should  'spect  you  was  a  poor  white,  dey 
wouldn't  give  you  good  treatment.  God 
bless  ye,  honey,  good-by ; "  and  kind  Susan 
vanished  down  the  stairway,  having  shut  the 
door  as  she  went  out. 


186  THE   POOR   WHITE. 


The  chamber  was  low  and  plainly  furnished  ; 
but  Lottie  was  dazzled  with  its  comparative 
elegance.  Nevertheless,  she  longed  to  be 
safely  back  in  her  mother's  cabin,  fully  real- 
izing the  sentiment  which  she  had  never  heard 
expressed  in  words  ;  — 

•*  Be  it  ever  so  humble,  there's  no  place  like  home." 

The  carpet,  mirror,  wash-stand,  chairs,  and 
bedstead,  although  ordinary,  could  not  be  suf- 
ficiently admired,  and  the  setting  sun  found 
her  busy  with  thoughts  of  wonder.  By  and 
by,  she  bethought  her  of  her  supper,  which 
Susan  had  so  carefully  provided,  and  taking 
off  her  shaker,  spread  her  food  on  a  corner  of 
the  wash-stand,  and  ate  with  a  thankful 
heart.  She  felt  that  God  had  answered  her 
mother's  prayers,  and  borne  her  prosperously 
on  her  journey.  That  night  she  dreamed  of 
home, —  dreamed  that  she  found  Sam,  and  that 
they  were  all  safe  in  the  dear  old  cabin  once 
more. 

She  passed  safely  through  the  perils  of 
breakfast,  although  her  hostess  and  the  ser- 


-^"^^ 


LOTTIE   ASLEEP  IN   THE   WOODS.     Pago  187. 


WHAT  BEFELL   THE   DAISY.  187 

vauts  thought  her  very  odd,  and  about  noon 
the  next  day  she  was  put  down  at  Windsor, 
som<3  forty  miles  from  Washington,  N.  C. 
This  remaining  distance  she  must  perform  on 
foot.  But  so  wonderfully  had  she  been  helped 
on  her  way  thus  far,  that  she  was  full  of  hope 
and  courage,  and  started  on  at  a  brisk  step. 
The  influence  of  her  dream  still  shone  on  her 
mind  with  a  cheering  ray,  and  she  w^as  san- 
guine that  she  should  find  her  brother,  the 
next  day  at  farthest.  Hope  really  was  bear- 
ing her  upon  his  Avings,  and  she  felt  no  fa- 
tigue. Large  plantations  and  stretches  of  pine 
woods  intervened  between  the  towns  and  vil- 
lages in  this  part  of  the  State.  The  sandy 
roads  were  heated  by  the  burning  sun  until 
w^alking  was  almost  unendurable.  Lottie's 
blistered  feet  aroused  her  from  reverie,  and 
she  sought  shelter  in  the  shade  of  a  grove  by 
the  wayside,  making  a  seat  of  a  prostrate  tree, 
and  burying  her  feet  in  cooling  moss.  Despite 
the  mosquitoes,  which  came  in  clouds,  at 
length  she  fell  asleep,  and  remained  thus  un- 


188  THE    POOR   WHITE. 


conscious,  leaning  against  tlic  boughs,  until 
she  vras  startled  by  the  shrill  notes  of  the 
whippoorwill.  Looking  around,  she  almost  ut- 
tered a  cry  of  fear,  as  she  saw  it  was  dark. 

"  Whippoorwill  !•  Whippoorwill !  "  sung 
the  bird,  without  the  least  regard  to  Lottie's 
superstitious  dread  of  his  ghostl}'  song. 

"Oh,  if  it  was  only  light,"  thought  Lottie, 
"  how  I  should  like  to  hear  the  bird  sing ;  but 
it  is  so  friofhtful  now."  Lookina^  around,  she 
strained  her  eyes  to  catch  sight  of  the  sad 
singer,  but  in  vain  ;  he  was  nowhere  to  be 
seen,  but  still  he  kept  on, — "  Whippoorwilf ! 
Whippoorwill !  "  The  moon  was  shedding 
its  pale  ray,  and  everything  looked  lonesome 
and  stealthy.  Lottie  thought  she  would  rath- 
er have  it  quite  dark  than  such  a  half-glare  of 
silver ;  the  soft  glances  of  the  moon  were  to 
her  like  the  whispers  of  ghosts. 

Presently  in  the  distance  was  heard  an 
answering  call,  "  Whippoorwill,  whippoor- 
will," and  greatly  to  the  relief  of  the  benighted 
girl,  the  nearer  minstrel  removed. 


WHAT   BEFELL    THE   DAISY.  189 

Poor  Lottie  !  where  could  she  go  for  shel- 
ter? She  did  uot  dare  attempt  to  travel  in 
the  night,  and  she  was  almost  equally  afraid  to 
remain  where  she  was.  At  length,  climbing 
a  white-pine,  with  wide-spreading  boughs,  she 
found  a  resting-place  a  few  feet  from  the 
ground.  A  little  brown  wren,  dreaming  of 
crumbs,  grubs,  and  nest-building,  had  its 
slumbers  disturbed,  and  with  hasty  flight 
alighted  on  a  near  branch,  and  as  Lottie  be- 
came quiet,  the  bird,  folding  its  head  under 
its  wing,  went  to  sleep  again;  and,  despite 
her  fears,  the  young  girl,  too,  was  soon  in 
forgetfulness.  Dream  on,  unsheltered  sleep- 
ers, the  Eye  that  never  slumbers  is  on  you 
both ;  dream  on. 


XY. 

Lottie  meets  with  Thieves. 

^l^^ASHINGTOX,  at  the  head  of  the 
vlVA  broad  waters  of  the  Pamlico  River, 
was  all  astir,  one  sultry  morning,  as  the  can- 
non of  Flag-Officer  Stringham's  fleet  came 
booming  over  the  Sound.  The  town  con- 
tained four  or  five  thousand  inhabitants,  and 
had  some  commerce  of  its  own,  exporting 
staves  and  shingles,  the  produce  of  its  neigh- 
boring swamps. 

"  Dish  sher  town  am  gwine  to  be  taken  dish 
time,  for  sartin,"  said  old  Isaac,  as  he  un- 
loaded staves  from  his  wagon,  for  a  schooner 
at  the  landinof. 

"  Hut  tut,  don't  you  believe  that !  "  said 
Prissy,  the  genteel  Creole  laundress,  —  a  free 
woman, —  with  a  basket  of  clean  linen  on  her 
head,  on  her  way  to  a  vessel.     "  The  Yankees 


LOTTIE   MEETS   WITH   THIEVES.  191 


too  good  friends  for  that !  They  only  firing 
in  the  fog,  like." 

"If  de  Yankees  takes  de  town,  your  trade 
down,  dat  sartin,"  replied  Isaac. 

"Father's  life!  don't  talk!  My  trade  jist 
begun,  when  that  happen !  As  long  as 
there  is  dirt  in  the  world,  Prissy  will  have 
something  to  do  !  If  the  Yankees  gits  into 
town,  all  smooched  with  powder  and  smoke, 
'pears  like  I  have  some  washing  on  hand, — 
he  !  he  ! " 

"Whose  washing  you  got  there?"  asked 
Isaac. 

"Oh,  this  is  for  the  men  on  that  vessel," 
replied  Prissy ;  "  they  came  near  being  ship- 
wrecked off  the  cape,  an'  they  put  in  here  for 
repairs,  an'  them  that  wants  washing  done  as 
it  should  be,  and  not  stave-paddled,  comes  to 
me  ! "  and  wnth  her  ow^n  stately  step,  crowned 
with  the  basket,  she  marched  down  the  wharf 
to  the  vessel. 

This  stave-paddling,  or  pounding  of  clothes, 
was  much  practised  by  a  class  of  negroes,  at 


192  THE   POOR   WHITE. 


Washington,  too  indolent  to  rub  them  prop- 
erly. Sitting  on  the  bank  of  the  river,  they 
laid  the  garments  to  be  washed  on  the  shelv- 
ing rocks,  and  with  a  stave,  leisurely  beat 
them  as  the  water  rippled  by.  This  miser- 
abe  pretence  for  washing  was  justly  censured 
by  Prissy. 

Washington  was  a  county  town ;  hence  it 
boasted  a  courthouse  and  ar  jail,  and  just  as 
Priss}"  was  returning  from  the  vessel,  with  the 
bright  silver  in  her  pocket,  and  a  basket  of 
soiled  clothes  on  her  head,  she  saw  a  crowd 
gathering  on  the  street  on  which  her  house 
was  situated,  talking  in  excited  tones.  Hav- 
ing put  the  basket  within  her  door,  she  re- 
turned to  ascertain  the  cause  of  the  commo- 
tion. 

"Curus  gal,  I  reckon,"  said  an  overseer. 

"What's  the  row?  What  is  it?"  asked 
voices  in  the  crowd. 

"  Why,"  replied  a  planter,  "  a  girl  has 
strayed  into  town  that  can't  give  no  reason- 
able account  of  herself.     She  wants  to  find 


LOTTIE    MEETS   WITH   THTEYES.  193 


her   brother,   who,   I   reckon,   has    'lifted  or 

beeu    drciftecl.       Some     runaway's    stoiy,    I 

* 
reckon." 

"  Nigger's  news  ! "  added  an  overseer. 

"  She  aint  a  nigger,"  said  Mrs.  Jack  Con- 
way, the  jailer's  wife,  standing  on  her  door- 
step ;  "  the  girl  is  as  white  as  I  be  ! " 

"That  may  be,"  replied  a  fat  judge,  "we 
have  white  niggers  as  well  as  black  ones.  If 
she  is  at  all  suspected,  we  must  commit  her  to 
jail  until  the  true  case  appears." 

"  That  gal  a  nigger ! "  exclaimed  Prissy, 
who,  being  a  privileged  member  of  commu- 
nity, spoke  her  mind  on  all  occasions,  "  she's 
only  a  poor  white  !  " 

"  I  reckon  Prissy  is  more  than  half  right," 
said  the  judge ;  "  nevertheless,  the  jail  is  the 
place  for  her  !  " 

And  so  the  crowd  escorted  poor  Lottie — 
for  it  was  herself — to  that  foul  receptacle  of 
criminals  and  slaves.  Not  one  word  of  pity 
was  spoken  ;  no  one  interfered  to  prevent  tiiis 
barbarous  treatment,  although  a  tutor  from  tlie 


194  THE    POOR   'WHITE, 


North  and  the  minister  of  the  parish  were 
witnesses  of  this  outrai]^e  on  the  defenceless 
stranger.  She  had  literally  fallen  among 
thieves,  and  the  priest  and  the  Levite  passed 
by  on  the  other  side. 

Poor  girl !  sorely  was  her  faith  tried,  as 
after  two  days'  wearisome  walking,  and  two 
lonesome  nights  in  the  woods,  she  found  the 
hospitality  of  a  loathsome  cell,  being  spumed 
from  the  comfoi-table  homes  around  her  be- 
cause she  was  a  stranger  in  distress.  Too 
much  exhausted  to  stand,  she  sank  down  on 
the  mouldy  straw  in  the  corner,  the  picture 
of  wretchedness  and  despair.  How  desirable 
seemed  the  Piny  Wood  cottage  compared 
with  the  jail !  How  happy  the  home  circle 
before  Sam  was  carried  off!  Oh,  when  would 
they  meet  together  again  ;  when  would  her 
troubles  be  over?  And  overcome  with  a 
sense  of  her  misery,  Lottie  cried  herself  to 
sleep,  leaning  against  the  cold  stone  wall. 

In  a  corner  room  of  an  upper  story  sat 
Jailer  Conway  and  his  wife.     He  was  short 


LOTTIE   MEETS    WITH    THIEVES.  195 


and  thill,  and  his  wife  disproportionately  lall 
and  portly,  and  as  niasculine  as  he  was  femi- 
nine. 

Mrs.  Conway  sat  swaying  in  her  arm-chair, 
iTgaling  herself  with  "dipping,"  or  rubbing 
her  teeth  with  snuff. 

"It's  awful  chilly  to-night,  Jack,"  —  the 
name  she  gave  her  husband,  —  "stir  the  fire; 
can't  ye  !  "     And  Jack  stirred  the  fii-e. 

"  Why  don't  you  ring  fur  Sal  to  wait  and 
tend?"  meekly  asked  he,  after  a  brief  space. 

"Why  don't  I  ?"  exclaimed  the  wife  ;  "that's 
my  business  !  If  I  help  you,  it's  as  little  as 
you  can  do  to  help  me.  There  never  is  a  row 
in  the  jail,  but  my  fist  and  my  arm  has  to 
settle  it,  and  I'm  more  jailer  than  you  be,  b}^ 
half.  Jack  Conway.  I  have  all  the  i)owerful 
niggers  to  lock  up,  an'  you  know  that.  Jack  1" 

"  Wal,  I  reckons  you  is.  Miss  Conway,"  re- 
pUed  the  husband,  "an'  I'll  tell  ye  what  I'll  da. 
I'll  stir  the  fire,  an'  do  all  the  waitin'  an'  tend- 
in'  you  wants,  if  you'll  on'y  let  Sal  make  thjit 
new  gal  below  a  bit  of  broth.    The  pour  tiiuig 


196  THE   POOR   ^VHITE. 


is  half  starved.  I'se  mortal  afeard  tshe'll  die, 
an'  I  shall  have  another  dead  body  to  tote  out, 
an'  you  knows,  Miss  jConway,  that  sauuds  sich 
an  awful  death  feelin'  to  my  stomach,  it  lays 
me  up  right  smart  long  time."  And  he  vigor- 
ously poked  the  lire,  and  piled  on  fuel. 

"  The  land ! "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Conway, 
"  she'll  do  well  'nough.  She's  used  to  it ; 
tough  as  a  knot ;  couldn't  kill  her  if  you 
should  try.  Hogs'  swill  is  good  'nough  f(jr 
her.  Jist  tote  down  the  pail,  and  let  her 
skim  out  what  she  wants,  with  her  fingers." 

So  the  jailer,  haviug  lighted  his  lantern, 
took  down  his  buiK'h  of  keys,  and  adroitly 
seizing  a  mince  turnover  from  the  half-open 
cupboard  door,  went  out  for  the  swill-pail, 
which,  "for  the  sake  of  a  quiet  life,"  he  bore 
to  the  door  of  the  miserable  ceil  which  Lottie 
occupied. 

"Poor  child  !  "  thought  the  jailer,  "I  haven't 
the  heart  to  wake  her  up  to  her  troubles.  I'll 
see  if  I  can't  make  her  a  comfortable  bed ;" 
and  returning  up  the  stairs,  he  brought  down 


LOTTIE   MEETS   WITH   THIEVES.  197 


a  husk  mattress  from  a  room  acljoiiiiug  his 
owu,  and  placing  it  in  the  driest  corner  of  the 
cell,  he  gently  awoke  her,  and  removed  her 
to  it;  then  giving  her  the  turnover  and  a 
mug  of  water,  without  saying  a  word,  he 
turned  the  key  and  took  his  swill-pail  away, 
not  deeming  it  worth  while  to  give  his 
Ijrisoner  a  glance  at  its  contents. 

"  Did  you  take  down  the  swill-pail !  "  asked" 
Mrs.  Conway,  as  he  passed  the  door. 

"Yes,  indeed,  I  did  !  "  replied  the  jailer. 

"  Did  you  give  the  gal  suthin'  to  eat?  " 

"  That  I  did.  Miss  Conway  1"  was  the  ready 
reply. 

"Wal,"  returned  the  wife,  "it's  my  mind 
she's  in  for  good.  She's  a  slave  an'  no  mis- 
take 'bout  that.  She'll  have  to  be  sold  to  pay 
her  jail  fees,  I  reckon  !  " 


XYI. 

Sorrow  in  the  Lodge. 

FTER  the  maroou  and  Sam  left  the  lodge, 
the  little  sufferers,  Hal  and  Frank,  grew 
rapidly  worse.  They  were  covered  from  head 
to  foot  with  an  itching,  burning  blotch,  which 
gave  them  no  rest,  and  tortured  beyond  en- 
durance, their  screams  were  most  heart-rend- 
ing. Chainy  taking  the  younger  in  her  arms 
walked  to  and  fro  and  sung  a  soothing  lullaby ; 
but  to  no  purpose. 

"  Poor  little  thing  !  Precious  infant  baby, 
what  Aunt  Chainy  do  ?  What  Aunt  Chainy 
do?"  she  cried.  Rate,  meanwhile,  bent  over 
Frank,  vainly  trying  to  divert  him  from  his 
sufferings.  At  length,  Chainy  finding  that  all 
her  efforts  failed  to  relieve  the  children,  laid 
Hal  on  the  couch  and  sat  beside  them  and 
wept  bitterly.    Eafe's  tears  came,  too,  when  he 

198 


SORROW  IN  THE   LODGE.  199 

saw  Aunt  Chainy  crying.  Baby  Frank  chang- 
ed fast.  The  fever  raged  violently,  and  the 
poison  had  made  him  so  swollen  that  he  was 
now  entirely  blind  and  delirious.  Chainy 
feared  that  he  would  live  but  a  little  while, 
and  therefore  aroused  herself  to  alleviate 
his  condition  if  possible.  The  maple  guelder 
rose,  or  Indian  dockmackie,  grew  near  the 
lodge,  and  pointing  it  out  to  Rate,  he  brought 
some  leaves,  and  the  good  woman  put  them 
on  Frank's  hands  and  limbs  and  feet,  and 
gently  laying  him  in  Eafe's  arms,  charged 
him  to  bear  him  to  and  fro  in  the  lodge,  while 
she  attended  to  Hal. 

Although  Frank's  sufferings  were  in  some 
measure  lessened,  his  disease  was  not  arrest- 
ed by  the  application.  He  moaned  constant- 
ly and  failed  apace.  Oh,  it  was  heart-rending 
to  think  that  he  must  die  so  far  from  home,  in 
the  lone,  dark  swamp  !  But  yet  he  had  the 
loving  Chainy  to  soothe  and  tend  him  ;  he  was 
not  utterly  forsaken.  Not  half  so  desolate 
and  stricken  as  the  little  children  whom  sla- 


200  TIIE    POOPw    WHITE. 


very  has  for  ages  dragged  from  their  homes 
and  sent  off  to  the  rice-swamps  and  cotton- 
fields,  to  bleed  under  the  lash,  or  die  Avith  the 
fever,  far  away  from  a  mother's  care  and  love. 

"What  poor  ole  Chahiy  do  widout her  darliu' 
Frank?"  cried  she,  as  the  tears  flowed  from 
her  dim  eyes.  Again  she  took  the  babe  in 
her  arms,  pressed  him  to  her  heart,  and  wept 
and  praA'ed  over  him ;  but  his  hour  had  come, 
—  the  dreadful  hour  of  death.  The  moments 
of  anguish  that  seemed  so  long,  so  unsupport- 
able,  at  length  were  over,  and  the  child's 
spirit  fled.  There  was  a  sweet  smile  of  peace 
on  the  so  lately  distorted  face  of  the  infant,  and 
Chainy  murmured,  "He's  jis'  gone  to  glory, 
blessed  baby !  He's  jis'  gone  to  glory  !  He'll 
have  no  more  strouble  now  :  "  and  she  ceased 
her  tears,  as  if  her  own  worn  spirit  sympa- 
thized in  the  release  of  the  child. 

There  was  no  sound  in  the  lodge,  save  the 
heavy  breathing  of  Hal,  in  the  stupefaction  of 
the  fever,  and  gently  laying  the  dead  child  on 
the  foot  of  the  couch,  Chainy  sat  down  and 


SORROW   m   THE   LODGE.  201 


wjitcbedthe  two  in  silence.  It  was  getting  late 
in  the  afternoon ;  she  knew  that  the  swamp- 
man,  her  Trolo,  could  not  reach  home  mitil  the 
next  day,  and  yet  she  looked  out  the  door  so 
longingly,  hoping  God  would  send  help  for 
dear  little  Hal.  That  was  a  lone,  sad  night. 
Ivafe  thought  he  could  sit  up  and  help  Aunt 
(yhainy  take  care  of  Hal,  but  early  in  the  even- 
ing, overcome  with  grief  and  weariness,  he  fell 
asleep,  and  sank  down  on  a  pile  of  skins. 

''Poor  t'ing!"  pitifully  said  Chainy ;  "it's 
good  that  you  can  sleep.  You  needs  it,  dat 
you  does  ! " 

Clouds  of  mosquitoes  came  in,  and  it  re- 
quired constant  effort  to  keep  them  off  herself 
and  the  child.  As  soon  as  it  was  morning, 
Rafe  awoke,  and  Chainy,  beckoning  to  him, 
tottered  out  the  door,  and  taking  her  way 
down  the  winding  path  that  led  to  the  spring, 
on  the  declivity  of  the  slope,  told  him  that 
they  must  dig  a  grave  in  the  sand.  There, 
under  the  willow  that  partly  overhung  the 
mossy  channel  of  the  brook,  they  made  tho 


202  THE   POOR  WHITE. 


babe's  last  resting-place.  Cbainy  went  in  to 
watcb  by  Hal,  after  sbe  had  showed  Eafe  how 
to  line  the  grave  with  soft  mosses,  leaves,  and 
flowers.  Then  wrapping  the  dead  child  in  a 
deer-skin  shroud,  together  they  went  out, 
Chainy  bearing  him,  and  gentl}^  laying  him 
down  in  his  lowly  bed.  And  as  they  carefully 
covered  the  bod}^  and  turfed  over  the  -grave, 
Chainy  said,  as  her  tears  fell  afresh,  "De  chile 
is  wanderin'  by  de  river  of  life,  and  'pears  like 
his  body  will  find  good  res'  by  dish  sher  cl'ar 
water." 

It  was  slight  breakfast  that  Chainy  and 
Eafe  could  eat  that  morniuir.  The  cfood  wo- 
man  wept  little ;  but  the  new  grief  revived 
the  freshness  of  the  old,  and,  added  to  her 
crushing  life-trials,  made  a  load  too  great  for 
her  to  bear.  Prostrated  with  her  burden  of 
sorroY\%  she  sunk  helpless  on  the  side  of  the 
couch,  where  lay  little  Hal.  Rafe  was  now 
sole  nurse,  and  arousing  his  faculties  to  the 
utmost,  was  constantly  busy,  striving  to  do 
something  to  relieve  the  sufterers.  He  brought 


SORROW   IN   THE   LODGE.  203 


cool  water  from  the  spring,  tenderly  raised 
'Hal's  head,  bathed  his  burning  brow,  and 
bound  cooling  leaves  on  his  hot  feet ;  but  for 
poor  Aunt  Chainy,  so  infirm  and  exhausted,  he 
knew  not  what  to  do,  only  to  bathe  her  fore- 
head as  he  did  those  in  the  fever,  and  put  wa- 
ter to  her  lips,  whicih  she  could  not  taste. 

Little  Hal  awaking,  called  piteously  for 
Aunt  Chainy  to  tote  him  in  her  arms. 

Eafe  took  him  up,  carried  him  to  and  fro, 
and  spoke  comforting  words  to  him. 

"Where's  Aunt  Chainy,  that  she  don't  tote 
me  ?  "  feebly  asked  the  child. 

"Aunt  Chainy  all  sick,"  replied  Rafe. 

"I  wish  Aunt  Chainy'd  tote  me,"  moaned 
he. 

"Dere,  dere,"  said  Eafe,  "never  mind,  I'll 
tote  you,  an'  take  right  smart  good  care  ou 
you ; "  and  in  his  sweet  way,  he  sung  softly 
and  plaintively  to  the  sick  boy,  and  soothed 
him  to  rest ;  then  laying  him  down  on  "the 
couch,  he  noticed  that  Chainy  seemed  to  be  in 
a  sound  sleep. 


204  THE   rOOR   WHITE, 


"  Dat's   good  !  "   thought  Enfc  ;    "  sl^'ll  git 
better.      How  I  wish  de  hunter  was .  back  !  "  * 
and  leaving  him  at  his   lonely  watch,  let  us 
follow  the  maroon. 


^^ 


XYII. 

Adventures  of  the   Swamp-man. 

^j^^lTlTH  the  earliest  dawn  the  maroon  left 
VlVX  the  trader's  cabm  for  the  dwelling 
of  the  medicine-man  of  Cedar  Ridge,  —  the 
pressing  errand  on  which  he  came  haunt- 
ing him,  and  causing  him  to  speed  on  his 
way.  He  had  accomplished  nearly  half  of  the 
distance,  and  the  sun  was  breaking  through 
the  clouds,  when  he  heard  voices,  and  a  clash 
of  arms,  as  of  men  in  strife.  Springing  into 
a  high  tree,  he  became  witness  of  the  exciting 
scene.  Three  rebels  were  pursuing  a  third 
soldier, — no  other  than  Will  Forbes, — who 
was  being  succored  by  two  armed  contra- 
bands. The  soldiers  had  disarmed  and  bound 
Forbes,  and  were  bearing  him  off,  when  the 
contrabands  issued  from  the  thickets,  and 
falling  upon  the  rebels,  forced  them  to  yield 
their  prey. 


206  THE    POOR    WHITE. 


"Blazes  ! "  cried  one  of  the  rebels,  attcrapt- 
iug  to  knock  down  a  black  with  the  butt  end 
of  his  musket.  "  What  you  here  for,  Joe  ? 
Back  to  your  work,  or  I'll  shoot  you  ! "  and 
he  beo:an  to  load  airaiu. 

Just  then  the  gun  of  the  maroon  was  levelled 
at  the  speaker.  A  flash,  a  report,  and  the  mas- 
ter fell,  exclaiming,  — 

"I'm  killed!  I'm  killed!  Lucifer,  what 
shall  I  do?  Friends,  take  me  home,  an'  kiU 
them  runaways." 

His  companions  raised  him  in  their  arms 
and  bore  him  from  the  field,  and  one  of  the 
number,  lingering  behind  to  shoot  Joe,  was 
another  mark  for  the  maroon's  unerring  aim. 
The  first  rebel  was  not  so  badly  injured  as 
he  in  his  terror  had  supposed.  The  two 
were  simply  disabled,  and  prevented  from 
doing  further  mischief. 

The  last  wounded  was  a  poor  white,  and  as 
the  swamp-man  descended  from  the  tree  and 
saw  his  pitiable  condition,  his  sympathies 
were  stirred. 


ADVENTURES  OF  THE  SWAMP-MAN.   207 


"  You  done  shot  me  !  "  said  the  writhiuii: 
creature,  turuiug  aud  looking  reproachfully  at 
the  maroon. 

"You  was  in  bad  company,"  was  the  reply, 
"an'  you  was  gwine  to  shoot  one  of  my  kin." 

"  Oh  !  oh  !  "  groaned  the  poor  white,  "  what 
shall  I  do  ?     You  done  broke  my  leg  !  " 

But  his  adversary  seemed  not  to  heed. 
He  was  at  that  instant  listening  to  AVill 
Forbes's  account  of  the  combat,  whom,  mean- 
while, he  unbound.  The  two  had  often  met 
before,  and  were  old  friends.  Indeed,  Forbes 
was  indebted  to  the  rnaroon  for  many  a  kind- 
ness. When  Will  Forl3es  aud  his  family 
were  sick,  he  had  almost  supported  them, 
bringing  them  game  for  food,  and  skins  for 
clothing.  Besides,  Forbes  gathered  from 
him  glimpses  of  light  on  the  war  and  its 
causes,  which  went  ftir  toward  disenthralling 
him  from  the  perverted  views  of  most  of  the 
poor  whites,  who,  through  ignorance,  were 
made  the  willing  tools  of  the  wealthy,  design- 
ing planters. 


208  THE    POOR    WHITE. 


"Is  you  hurt?"  asked  the  swamp-man. 

"  No,"  repUed  Forbes,  "  nothiug  much,  only 
scarred  with  the  cord;  but  I'm  mighty  glad 
to  git  free.  Let  me  sec  if  my  despatches  is 
safe  ! "  and  pulling  off  one  of  his  brogaus, 
which  had  numerous  ]:)reathing  holes,  he  drew 
out  a  wad  of  papers.  ''  All  right ! "  he  added  ; 
"them's  very  important.  Sich  little  papers  as 
them  is  turns  the  course  of  armies  sometimes. 
Kever  seed  the  beat  on't !  " 

Forbes  could  not  read  or  write,  and  he 
looked  upon  the  effect  of  those,  to  him,  mys- 
terious arts  as  little  less  than  maijical,  rea'ard- 
ing  them  with  something  of  the  superstition 
of  the  Indian. 

Meanwhile  the  contrabands  —  two  men  and 
several  women  and  children  —  emerged  from 
the  underbrush,  whither  they  had  betaken 
themselves  on  the  alarm* that  the}^  were  pur- 
sued. The  men  had  left  their  helpless  charge 
to  succor  Forbes,  and  seeing  the  swamp-man, 
had  stepped  into  the  thicket  again  to  quiet 
the  fears  of  the  little  group  therein  hidden. 


ADVENTURES  OF  THE  SWAMP-MAN.   209 

"Where  you  travelling,  friends?"  asked  the 
maroon. 

''We'se  jist  gwine  to  find  a  safe  place  to 
live  in  till  de  war  is  over,"  said  one  of  the 
fugitives. 

''Plenty  of  room  out  here,"  replied  the 
swamp- man,  as  he  noticed  the  wounded  man, 
and  with  the  skill  of  a  surgeon  began  to  ex- 
amine the  broken  limb. 

"Bredren,"said  he  to  the  colored  men,  "we 
must  make  a  litter,  and  help  this  man  to  a 
shelter." 

"  Dish  sher  chile  can't  do  dat ! "  said  Joe  ; 
"he'd  done  shot  me,  if  you  hadn't  been  in  de 
tree.  'Sides,  he  nuffin'  but  a  poor  white. 
Don't  'prove  of  dat  are  trash." 

"  There's  poor  whites  jist  as  good  as  other 
folks,"  replied  the  maroon ;  "Jjut  they  fights 
ag'in  themselves  like,  when  they  jines  the  se- 
cesh.  If  the  secesh  succeeds,  they'll  make 
lots  more  slaves,  an'  if  they  don't  find  plenty 
of  black  ones,  they'll  slave  the  whites  as  can't 
help  themselves." 

14 


210  THE    POOR   WHITE. 

"Luk  a  here!"  interrupted  Joe,  angrily; 
**dish  sher  chap  got  sarved  jist  as  he  was 
gwine  to  sarve  me,  an'  I'se  glad  he  is ;  an' 
how's  dis  chile  to  help  him  out  of  his  strou- 
ble?" 

"  Joe  !  Joe  !  "  interrposed  an  old  grand- 
mother in  the  group  of  women,  "we  ken 
'ford  to  help  him  jist  as  well  as  not.  Hasn't 
de  good  Lord  begun  to  hear  our  prayers,  an' 
deliver  us?  An'  if  we  wasn't  slaves,  wouldn't 
de  poor  whites  have  a  chance  to  do  suffin'  for 
demselves?  I  tell  you  de  good  Lord  he's 
begun  to  help  us,  an'  he  wont  leave  his  work 
till  it's  well  done,  dat  he  wont.  ^Ve  can 
'ford  to  show  marcy  on  dish  poor  white  when 
de  good  Lord  he's  showin'  sech  pity  for  us  !  * 

"That's  so  !  "  added  the  maroon. 

"I  reckon  PU  help  make  a  litter,"  said  Joe, 
relenting,  and  in  a  short  time  the  negroes 
had  made  a  good  stretcher,  on  which  they 
gently  laid  the  captive  rebel,  and  the  pro- 
cession commenced  moving.  First  the  maroon 
showed  the  way,  then  the  two  men  bearing 


ADVENTURES  OF  THE  SWAMP-MAN.   211 


the  prisoner,  thirdly,  the  women  and  children, 
and  last  of  all.  Will  Forbes  brought  up  the 
rear,  the  swamp-man  having  oflfered  to  guide 
the  little  party  to  a  place  of  safety,  which 
chanced  to  be  in  the  direction  of  Forbes's 
route.  They  passed  on  in  silence,  for  some 
time,  fearing  that  they  might  be  pursued  by 
soldiers.  When  they  came  to  a  part  of  the 
swamp  which  spread  out  into  a  ridge,  or  ta- 
ble-land, thickly  covered  with  forest  trees, 
they  made  a  halt,  while  the  maroon  reconnoi- 
tred to  find  the  best  point  for  entrance ;  for 
so  rank  and  close  was  the  undergrowth,  that 
not  a  vestige  of  a  path  was  to  be  seen  ;  indeed, 
there  were  no  avenues  by  which  the  inaccessi- 
ble wood  could  be  penetrated,  and  yet  it  was 
the  purpose  of  the  maroon  to  take  his  com- 
pany into  the  very  heart  of  this  fastness. 

With  the  aid  of  Will  Forbes  pressing 
back  the  thick  boughs  of  a  clump  of  ever- 
greens, on  the  borders  of  the  forest,  he  found 
an  open  space  large  enough  to  put  down  the 
stretcher ;  then  returning  to  the  company  left 


212  THE   POOR  -W^BITE. 


outside,    the    maroon   and   Will    parted    the 
branches  on  the   other  side   of  the  tree,  and 
admitted  the  contrabands  one  by  one,  so  that 
all  were,  for  the  time,  in  a  hiding-place.     Lit- 
tle seemed  to  be  gained,  however,  and  Will 
and    his    companions    were   wondering   what 
they  could  do  there,  when  the  maroon,  charg- 
ing them  to  keep  perfectly  still  and  wait  till 
his  return,  urged  his  way  through  a  thickef 
and  began  climbing  a  spreading  tree.     When 
a   few   feet   from   the    ground,    a   horizontal 
branch  interlaced  with  another  tree  ;  the  limbs 
had  been  ingeniously  formed  into  a  passage 
from  trunk   to  trunk.      Below  was  a  jungle 
of  bushes,  above,    shadowing   foliage.      The 
swamp-man  pursued  this  path  for  several  rods, 
and  then,  clambering  down  the  last  tree  in  the 
chain,  landed  in  a  wide  clearing.     Giving  a 
peculiar  signal-whistle,  it  was  answered  by  an   ' 
old  man's  coming  out  of  a  cabin  on  the  edge  i 
of  the   wood  which  was   covered  with   wild  ' 
vines.     In  different  directions  around  the  cir-  !i 
cle,  cautiously  peered  dusky  faces,  and  yet  a 


ADViSNTURES   OF   THE   SWAMP-MAN.      213 


stranger  might  have  beeu  set  down  there  aud 
have  gone  away  none  the  wiser,  unless,  in- 
deed, the  settlers  had  unloosed  their  dogs 
upon  him.  This  was  the  medicine-man's 
hamlet,  and  the  cleared  ground  was  the  gar- 
den-patch, devoted  to  sweet  potatoes. 

The  maroon  was  cordially  received  by  the 
old  man,  and  lost  no  time  in  making  known 
his  errand,  and  all  under  his  care  were  wel- 
comed. 

"Dere's  room  'nough,"  said  the  patriarch, 
"  If  de  Lord  saunds  our  brethren  here,  it's  as 
little  as  we  can  do  to  welcome  'em  !  '• 

The  maroon  inquired  if  the  village  was  well 
supplied  with  food,  and  found  that  they  had 
an  abundance.  Every  night  some  two  or 
three  of  the  able-bodied  men  were  out  gather- 
ing supplies,  by  taking  staves  and  shingles 
down  to  the  canal,  to  the  swamp-merchants, 
aud  exchanging  them  for  coarse  clothes,  salted 
meat,  and  fish.  These  frequent  journeys  were 
necessary,  as  the  difficulty  of  traversing  the 
swamp,  and  their  mode  of  leaving  and  enter- 


214  THE    POOR   AVIIITE. 

ing  the  forest,  made  it  impossible  to  cany 
large  loads. 

As  the  Avounded  man  and  the  fugitives 
were  lowered,  one  by  .one,  down  the  tree, 
there  were  plent^^  of  kind  hands  ready  to  aid 
them  the  moment  they  reached  the  ground. 

There  was  even  a  strife  among  the  villag- 
ers as  to  who  would  show  them  most  atten- 
tion. The  only  hesitation  was  in  regard  to 
the  disabled  white.  Some  feared  that  he 
might  betray  them  on  his  recover}' ;  but  a 
word  from  the  maroon  satisfied  them,  and  he 
was  entertained  at  the  house  of  the  medicine- 
man. 

"Will  Forbes  did  not  stop  to  make  a  call  at 
the  village.  The  broken  limb  of  the  poor  white 
was  set  as  soon  as  he  could  endure,  after  his 
toilsome  ride  up  and  down  the  trees.  When 
he  was  borne  into  the  cabin  he  had  fainted. 
Restoratives  were  used,  and  he  soon  came  to. 

Having  seen  the  different  members  of  his 
company  well  cared  for,  the  maroon  made 
known  the  case  of  the  children  in  the  lodge, 


ADVENTURES  OF  THE  SWAMP-MAN.   215 


and  obtaining  the  medicine,  left  immediately 
on  his  retnrn  home. 

Will  Forbes  soon  after  started  in  the  op- 
posite direction ;  the  welfare  of  contrabands 
was  one  of  the  duties  of  his  commission. 
This  class  of  the  South,  liberated  by  the  cus- 
toms of  war,  and  afterward  more  fully  by 
the  proclamation  of  the  President,  were  get- 
ting too  numerous  for  comfort,  in  the  vicinity 
of  the  Federal  camps,  and  certain  officers  and 
soldiers  were  so  hard  as  to  wish  them  re- 
manded to  slavery  again.  Government  could 
not  support  them  in  idleness,  it  was  urged ; 
besides,  there  was  no  one  appointed  to  set 
them  to  work,  and  little  that  they  could  do  if 
there  was.  Why,  they  could  not  take  caro 
of  themselves,  —  they,  who  all  their  lives  long 
had  been  accustomed  to  take  care  of  their 
masters ! 

Some  of  these  contrabands  thus  kindly  wel- 
comed were  the  wives  and  children  of  slaves 
who,  having  learnt  the  art  of  war,  on  the  rebel 
batteries  at  Yorktown,  had  sent  them  to  the 


216  THE    POOR   WHITE. 


fastness  of  the  s\famp  for  safety,  as  they 
themselves  purposed  joiuiDg  the  Northern 
army  the  first  opportunity. 

They  finally  escaped,  and  oiTered  them- 
selves to  the  Union  forces  at  Fortress  ^lonroe. 
Gen.  Butler  accepted  them,  and  when  Flag- 
Officer  Stringham  fitted  out  an  exiK?ditioa 
against  Forts  Clark  and  Hattcras,  at  Hatteras 
Inlet,  Gen.  Butler,  having  command  of  the 
land  forces,  took  these  contraband  soldiers 
Avith  him.  Few  of  our  generals  would,  at 
that  early  period,  have  allowed  them  this 
privilege,  but  would  have  driven  them  out 
of  our  lines ;  or,  with  ready  subserviency, 
have  delivered  them  to  our  enemies,  their  for- 
mer masters.  At  the  reduction  of  Forts 
Clark  and  Hatteras,  was  the  first  instance,  in 
this  war,  where  the  white  and  the  black  man 
'*  stood  side  by  side  fighting  for  the  Unoin." 
It  is  worthy  of  note,  that  the  smile  of  God 
seemed  to  rest  upon  this  expedition.  The 
victory  was  complete  and  glorious,  and  not  a 
di'op  of  blood  was  spilt  on  the  Federal  side. 


ADVENTURES   OF   TTIE    SWAMP-MAN.       217 

The  testimony  of  an  eye-witness  is  tliat  the  ne- 
gro soldiers  fought  energetically  and  bravely, 
"  none  more  so."  Were  not  their  souls  fired 
with  a  lofty  ardor,  as  they  thought  of  the 
mighty  work  they  were  aiding,  —  even  the 
deliverance  of  their  race  from  bondage  ? 


XYIII. 

Prissy's   Speculation. 

'OTTIE  ate  her  supper  in  the  dark,  with 
miiialed  fcelino^s.  She  was  o^lad  to  find 
refuge,  even  in  the  foitl  jail,  from  the  gaping, 
unsympathizing  crowd ;  was  thankful  that 
matters  were  no  worse  ;  and  tliat  she  had  a 
husk-bed  to  rest  upon  instead  of  the  filthy 
litter  in  the  corner.  The  religious  teachings 
of  her  poor  dear  mother  came  vividly  to 
mind,  and  it  was  a  great  comfort  to  her  to 
think  that  God  could  hear  and  answer  her 
prayers,  uttered  down  in  that  prison,  just  as 
well  as  if  she  were  under  the  open  sky. 

"  Mother  told  me  to  pray  if  I  got  into  trou- 
ble, and  so  I  will,"  thought  she  ;  "  I  will  keep 
praying.  Ever3'thing's  for  the  best,  mother 
says  ;  but  I  wonder  what  good'U  come  of  my 
being  shet  up  here?     Perhaps  Sam's  here  in 

218 


PRISSY'S   SPECULATION.  219 


some  of  these  little  cellars,  an'  I  shall  find 
him,  an'  we'll  git  cl'ar  together ! "  and  with 
these  reveries,  after  having  prayed  once  more, 
she  fell  asleep. 

IS^ot  many  days  after.  Prissy  called  to  chat 
with  the  jailer's  wife,  and  learn  more  about 
the  strange  white  girl  whom  the  chivalry  of 
the    place    had    consigned   to   imprisonment. 
Prissy  was  no  common  character.     She  was 
a  sensible,  cheerful-looking  mulatto  of  forty, 
chubby,  smart,  and  witty;  gifted  with  a  good 
share  of  intellect  and  shrewdness,   and  was 
widely  respected  and  trusted. 

She  uniformly  wore  a  turban,  gracefully 
wound  from  a  bandanna,  and  a  neat  checked 
gingham  dress.  She  lived  alone  in  her  little 
brown  cottage,  not  far  from  the  river,  and  a 
scheme,  worthy  of  her  busy  brain,  drew  her  to 
the  apartments  of  the  jailer  and  his  wife. 

Prissy  was  anxious  to  become,  in  every  re- 
spect, equal  to  the  leading  class  in  society. 
She  lacked  nothing  but  a  slave,  and  deter- 
mined  to  use  her  wits  to  obtain  one. 


220  THE  rooii  winxE. 


"  What's  all  this  fuss  they  makes  about  this 
gal  that's  locked  up?"  asked  she  of  the  jailer's 
wife. 

"Indeed,  I  don't  know,"  said  Mrs.  Conway; 
"I  don't  keep  track  of  runaways  !  " 

"  What'll  come  of  her?  "  inquired  Prissy. 

"  Indeed,  I  don't  know  I  "  was  the  reply. 

"Who'll  pay  her  jail-fees?" 

"  Indeed,  I  don't  know  ! " 

"  She'll  be  sold  to  pay  'em,  in  course,"  ob- 
served Priss}^ ;  "  it  comes  to  that  with  them 
that's  tooken  up  an'  lodged  in  jail.  All  is, 
when  the  sale  comes  ofl*  I  wants  to  know. 
I'm  requested  to  bid  her  off ! " 

"If  I  knows  of  it,  an'  don't  forget.  Til  let 
ye  know  I  "  said  ]\Irs.  Conway,  as  she  lighted 
her  pipe  and  commenced  smoking. 

"  Is  Conway  in  ?  "  asked  the  caller. 

"  He's  somewhere's  about  the  jail,  d'arin'  up, 

I  reckon,"  answered  the  wife. 

"Tell  him  I  stands  read}^  to  pay  the  jail- 
fees  when  they  comes  due,"  said  Prissy,  as 
she  rose  to  go. 


prissy's  speculation.  221 


"Very  well,"  returned  the  lady,  "I'll  tell 
him  ;  but  what's  your  hurry  ?  " 

"I  must  be  gwine.  Left  my  wash-tub  wait- 
ing,—  washing  wont  do  itself  I  Good-morn- 
ing !  "  and  she  hurried  away. 

The  jailer  coming  in  soon  after,  "Look  here, 
Jack,"  said  Mrs.  Conway,  "Prissy's  been  here, 
an'  wants  to  pay  that  are  gal's  jail-fees." 

"I  sha'n't  object,"  said  the  other.  "We 
haven't  paid  her  our  washing  bill  for  the  last 
quarter.  Perhaps  we  can  make  a  turn,  and 
save  paying  out  the  money." 

"That's  the  idea,"  replied  she;  "you  are 
gitting  right  smart  bright.  That's  the  best 
bargain  you  ever  made,  except  when  you  got 
me,"  and  she  finished  with  a  coarse  laugh. 


XIX. 

A  TThite  Slaye. 

OT  many  weeks  pjissed  before  Lottie 
was  an  inmate  of  Prissy's  dwelling. 

And  this  fact  is  worthy  of  record  :  "  Slavery 
in  America  is  rapidly  ceasing  to  be  negro 
slavery.  It  is  fast  becoming  the  slavery  of 
the  laboring  class,  irrespective  of  color."  And 
should  it  contimie,  some  of  those  who  have 
fallen  in  love  with  it  may,  in  the  turning  of 
the  wheel  of  fortune,  have  the  privilege  of 
wearing  the  yoke  themselves. 

The  courthouse  and  jail  officials  were  only 
too  glad  to  get  rid  of  Lottie,  and  readily  gave 
Prissy  leave  to  take  her  away,  on  condition 
that  she  paid  the  jail-fees. 

On  her  way  home  the  Creole  bade  Lottie 
walk  behind  her,  adding,  "  'Cause  you  is  my 
servant,"  and  deigned  her  no  further  notice. 
Entering  her  little  abode,  she  commenced, — 


A   ^VHITE   SLAVE.  223 


**I  don't  reckon  you  ever  lived  in  sich  a 
nice  house  as  this  afore  ;  poor  whites  can't 
afford  sich  things.  This  are  is  mine  ;  paid  for 
every  stick  of  timber,  every  board  an'  nail. 
You  is  mine,  too,  —  every  inch  of  you.  I 
jist  bought  you,  an'  I  reckon  you  is  the  dirti- 
est, raggedest  thing  I  ever  see.  I  shall  give 
you  a  tub  of  water  to  wash  in,  an'  an  old  suit 
of  my  clothes,  an'  see  if  you  can't  look  a  little 
more  decent." 

Lottie  w^as  in  a  maze,  not  knowing  what  to 
make  of  her  new  relation,  but  silently  did  as 
her  mistress  bade  her. 

"I  shall  'spect  you  to  do  jist  as  I  say,"  con- 
tinued Prissy,  as  she  seated  herself  by  a  win- 
dow, to  sew  on  a  button  and  mend  a  fine 
shirt,  "  'cause  you  is  my  servant.  There," 
she  exclaimed  at  length,  as  she  surveyed  Lot- 
tie, washed,  combed,  and  dressed  in  an  old 
calico.  "  I  make  sure  I  shouldn't  known  you 
from  Adam.  You  make  quite  a  likely  look- 
ing servant."  Then,  as  Lottie  seated  herself 
in  a  chair,  "  Git  up  this  instant  I     What  do 


224  THE   I*OOR   WHITE. 


you  mean,  to  sit  down  when  I  am  here?  You 
must  alwaj^s  stand,  as  if  you  was  waiting  to 
do  somethin'.  An'  you  must  eat  the  bits  an' 
ends,  an'  the  slops,  for  I  don't  keep  no  pig  ;  an' 
it'll  be  lots  better  for  you  than  what  you'se 
been  used  to." 

Lottie's  fortitude  forsook  her,  and  she  burst 
into  tears. 

"  I  w^ant  to  find  Sam  I  "  sobl^ed  she. 

"  Sam  !  "  echoed  Prissy  ;  "  who's  Sam  ?  " 

"  He's  m}'  brother,  and  I  comed  all  the  way 
from  my  hum  to  find  him." 

"  Sakes  alive  !  you'll  never  find  him,"  ex- 
claimed Prissy  ;  "  he's  a  slave  some'ars,  I  make 
sure.  If  he  aint,  it's  a  pity  ;  an'  it's  my  mind 
if  every  one  of  you  poor  whites  was  slaves, 
you'd  be  lots  better  ofi*,  —  you'd  have  some- 
thin'  to  do,  an'  somethin'  to  eat ! " 

This  was  no  special  comfort  to  the  poor 
girl,  who  was  really  ill  with  homesickness. 
The  little  Piny  Wood  cottage  seemed  dearer 
to  her  than  a  palace,  and  the  mean  fare  of  her 
mother's  table  more  to  be  desired  than  a  feast, 


A    WHITE    SLAVE.  225 

aud  the  voices  of  bcr  brothers  and  sisters  the 
sweetest  music  in  the  world.  But  most  of  all 
she  longed  to  hear  her  motlier  pray  —  for 
pi-ajer  was  her  only  relief;  and  since  she 
had  begun  to  go  to  God  with  her  troubles,  her 
mother  was  tenfold  more  precious  to  her. 

"You  was  never  half  so  well  off  as  you  is 
now,"  continued  Prissy ;  "an'  if  you've  a  spark 
of  sense  you'll  find  it  out,  an'  make  yourself 
useful !  " 

Lottie  had  dried  her  tears  when  thinking 
of  her  mother's  prayers.  Prissy,  little  dreamt 
ing  of  what  was  passing  in  her  mind,  con- 
cluded that  she  was  getting  reconciled  to  her 
condition,  and  added,  — 

"If  you  do  jist  as  I  tells  you,  you'll  find  me 
a  kind  mistress,  an'  you'll  be  better  fed  and 
clothed  than  you  ever  was  in  all  your  life ; 
better  dan  de  common  run  of  slaves  be ! " 

Lottie  said  nothing;  but  she  prayed  in  her 
heart  that  God  would  bring  it  all  out  right; 
that  he  would  hear  her  mother's  prayers,  and 
let  Sam  aud  herself  get  safely  home  once  more. 


226  THE   POOR   WHITE. 

"Now  sweep  up  the  room!"  said  Pnssy; 
**  let  me  see  if  you  knows  how  !  "  And  after 
it  was  done,  "  Sweep  it  over ;  you  haint 
larnt  m}'  ways,  I  see  !  Sweeping  is  sweep- 
ing. When  a  room  is  swept,  there  aint  no 
dirt  left  behind  !  There,  now  you  may  go 
down  to  the  vessel  with  me,  after  a  load  of 
dirty  clothes.  I  want  you  to  larn  the  way ; 
you'll  have  to  go  after  'em  right  smart  of- 
ten ! " 

The  black  mistress  then  gave  her  a  lesson 
in  balancing  the  basket  on  her  head  ;  but  as 
often  as  she  put  it  on,  and  attempted  to  walk, 
down  it  came,  till  the  Creole  was  out  of  pa- 
tience. 

"  ^Yhat  a  stupid  poor  white  you  be  !  There 
aint  a  nigger  far  and  near  but  can  do  that  the 
fust  time  trying.  See  me,  now  ! "  and  placing 
the  basket  on  her  own  pate,  she  walked  off 
in  her  queenly  way,  as  if  it  belonged  there. 
"There,"  seizing  hold  of  her,  "let  me  straighten 
your  shoulders  !  You're  that  bent  over  you'll 
be  good  for  nothin',  for  to  tin' !     Why  can't 


A    WHITE    SLAVE.  227 


you  be  straight,  like  folks,  an'  not  bend  over 
as  if  you  was  gwine  on  all  fours  ?  " 

Many  a  hard  drilling  did  Prissy  give  her 
maid  in  head-toting;  but  long  was  it  before 
she  could  carry  an  empty  basket,  much  less  a 
loaded  one. 

Lottie's  life  was  a  busy  one,  —  each  day 
crowded  with  thankless  tasks  which,  to  little 
purpose,  she  sought  to  perform  to  her  mis- 
tress's satisfaction. 

At  night  Prissy  slept  "like  folks,"  as  she 
expressed  it,  in  her  own  nice  bed,  while 
wretched  Lottie,  crushed  and  dispirited, 
camped  doAvn  on  the  floor  at  the  foot,  with 
only  an  old  blanket  to  cover  her.  Poor  girl ! 
How  she  was  tried  !  It  seemed  as  if  her 
prayers  never  would  be  answered ;  but  still 
she  kept  praying,  and  the  dear  mother  in  the 
Piney  Wood  cabin  prayed  too ;  it  was  their 
only  resource. 

-One  night,  just  after  dusk,  there  was  a 
knock  at  PrissyJs  cottage,  —  no  unusual  thing, 
for,  as  she   did  washing  for  the  ves*;cls  and 


228  THE    POOR   ^VHITE. 


sloops  in  the  river,  occasionally  sailors  called 
to  get  their  clothes,  and  pay  their  bills,  al- 
though it  was  a  part  of  her  business  to  carry 
them  and  collect  her  dues.  It  happened  that 
Lottie  had  gone  to  one  of  the  schooners,  to 
get  a  basket  of  clothes,  and  Prissy  herself 
went  to  the  door. 

"Why  hi!  Bill  Forbes!"  exclaimed  she, 
''is  that  you?  How  came  you  here?  But 
come  in,  and  tell  me  all  about  it." 

"  Hush  !  "  whispered  her  caller,  looking  ap- 
prehensively around  as  he  went  in,  ''it's  a 
secret !     For  3'our  life  don't  you  breathe  it !  " 

"  What's  a  secret  ? "  asked  Prissy,  as  she 
placed  a  seat  for  him  b\'  the  fire.  "Every- 
body knows  that  you  was  drafted." 

"Yes,"repUed  Bill;  "but  everybody  don't 
know  that  I  am  here,  and  no  one.  must  know. 
I  came  here  on  important  business,  and 
thought  I'd  jist  call  and  take  the  clothes  I 
left  when  I  was  toted  off  in  such  a  hurry." 

"Yes,"  said  the  laundress,  "•I've  took  good 
care  of  'em,  an'  vou  shall  have  'em." 


A   WHITE    SLAVE.  229 


''Do  you  live  all  alone?"  asked  Forbes. 

"Yes,  'ceptiii'  Lottie.  She's  my  servant, 
you  know." 

"An'  how  came  Lottie  with  you?"  asked 
the  soldier. 

"  Why,  hi  !  "  said  Prissy,  proudly,  "  I 
bought  her  with  my  own  money.  There 
wa'u't  nobody  but  me  that  had  money  'nuff  to 
pay  her  jail-fees, —ha  !  ha!  — an'  so  I  just 
took  her  hum." 

"Is  she  uigger,  or  mulatter?"  asked  Forbes. 

"She's  a  poor  white,  Bill,"  replied  Prissy, 
earnestly ;  "  an'  that's  what  they're  all  comin' 
to ;  an'  lots  better  off  they'll  be,  too,  'cordin' 
to  my  reckonin' !  " 

"  A  poor  white  ! "  slowly  said  the  soldier, 
quite  taken  aback.  "  I'd  ruther  be  a  soldier 
than  a  slave.  I  shall  jine  the  army  ag'in  if 
that's  so." 

"Well,  it's  so,  you  may  depend,"  replied 
Prissy;  "there's  gwine  to  be  only  two  sorts, 
masters  an'  slaves,— that's  Tyhat  the  'Federates 
is  fightin'  for,  —  an'  if  a  man  aint  rich  'nuff  to 


230  THE    POOR   ^\TIITE. 


owu  a  slave,  he  must  be  one  hisself.  But 
you  poor  whites  haint  life  euough  to  make 
good  servants.  Lottie  aint  much  'count,  no- 
ways ;  she's  that  humsick  an'  worrj'in'  arter 
Sam." 

"  Arter  Sam  ?  "  said  the  soldier  ;  "  I  met  a 
youngster  by  the  name  of  Sam,  when  I  was 
in  the  Great  Swamp,  an'  he  was  a  right  smart 
poor  white,  too  !  I'd  like  to  see  a  nigger  boy 
that  could  match  him  !  " 

"How  old  was  he?"  asked  Lottie,  who  had 
quietly  entered,  and  standing  behind  Prissy's 
chair,  for  some  minutes  had  been  a  listener  to 
the  conversation. 

"Wal,  Miss,"  replied  the  soldier,  turning 
around,  "  I  couldn't  say  jestly ;  some'ares 
about  twelve  or  fourteen,  I  reckon,  an  you're 
the  very  pictur'  of  him,  —  never  see  sich  a 
strong  likeness  afore." 

"I  reckon  it's  our  Sam,"  said  Lottie,  greatly 
excited.  ""Where  is  he?  Oh,  where  is  he? 
Can  I  see  him?"  . 

"  Bless    you,    Miss,"   replied    the    soldier, 


A   WHITE    SLAVE.  231 

*^he's  safe;  he's  to  hum,  I  reckon.  I  went 
arter  him,  an'  they  told  me  at  a  trader's  cabin 
that  he'd  gone  hum  with  his  father." 

"I  must  be  gwine  ! "  said  Lottie,  starting 
toward  the  door.  "I  comed  arter  Sam,  an' 
if  he's  found,  it's  time  I  was  to  hum.  There 
wont  be  nobody  to  milk  the  goat ;  an'  mother 
she'll  go  crazy  if  I  don't  come  !  " 

"Back  with  you  1"  exclaimed  Prissy,  spring- 
ing up,  with  flashing  eyes,  and  standing 
against  the  door.  "You're  my  slave,  an'  you 
don't  belong  to  your  mother  no  more,  but  to 
me!" 

Lottie  sank  to  the  floor,  motionless.  The 
kind-hearted  soldier  looked  at  Prissy  in  utter 
astonishment. 

"Ownin'  a  slave  makes  a  body  hard-hearted, 
that's  so  !  I  should  think  yer'd  be  glad  to  let 
her  go,  bein'  as  she  wants  to." 

"Can't  help  that,  noways,"  replied  Prissy, 
fiercely ;  "  I've  done  paid  for  her,  an'  she's 
mine,  an'  she  can't  stir  a  step  'less  I  tell  her 
to  !  " 


232  THE  POOR  A^^^TE. 


"Come  now,  Prissy,  I  tell  ye  what  I  will 
do," returned  the  soldier,  coaxingly  ;  "Til  pay 
you  the  'mount  of  her  jail-fees,  an'  you  let  the 
poor  creeter  go  hum.  I  know  a  short  way  to 
the  Piny  Wood  country." 

"  Couldn't  sell  her  for  that,"  said  Prissy ; 
"  you'd  hafter  double  the  money  !  " 

"  Double  the  money  then  !  "  replied  the  sol- 
dier, "if  I  hafter  go  inter  the  army  to  arn  it !" 

"  Wal,"  said  Prissy,  relentlessly,  "  when 
you  gits  the  silver,  jist  hand  it  over,  an'  Pll 
see  about  it !  " 


XX. 

The  Baskjet  on  the  Door-step. 

fOTTIE  now  began  to  realize,  in  good 
earnest,  how  hard  it  is  to  have  one's 
Avill  entirely  controlled  by  that  of  another. 
She  was  absent  and  dejected,  and  her  work 
was  done  less  efficiently  than  ever. 

'* 'Pears  like  yon  is  dat  stupid,"  said  Prissy 
one  morning,  as,  after  long  efforts,  Lottie 
failed  to  kindle  the  fire  for  o:ettinff  breakfast. 
"It's  mope,  mope,  all  day  wid  you  now.  I 
makes  sure  you  is  slower  dan  a  snail.  Pve 
got  a  medicine  dat'll  cure  you.  Want  I 
should  try  it?" 

"Don't  know,"  listlessly  replied  Lottie. 

"Wal,  what  do  you  know?  'Pears  like 
you  don't  know  nothin'.  Wake  up  and  do 
better,  or  I  shall  have  you  taken  down  to  the 
whipping-post,  —  that's  the  medicine  we  gives 

233 


234  THE    POOR   T\'HITE. 


lazy  folks;  how'd  you  like  that?"  The  pin- 
iug  servant  made  uo  reply,  not  knowing  what 
to  say.  But  who  may  tell  how  her  heart 
ached  to  be  free  from  the  heavy  yoke,  and  to 
be  sheltered  beneath  the  wing  of  her  mother's 
love? 

Ah,  many  a  poor  slave-girl  has  had  the 
same  heart-ache,  and  found  no  relief.  Lot- 
tie's was  by  no  means  the  worst  form  of  slav- 
ery :  she  had  not  been  sold  by  her  own 
father,  and  she  did  not  toil  in  a  rice-swamp 
beneath  a  broiling  sun.  Prissy  was  exact- 
ing and  arbitrary ;  but  she  could  not  equal 
most  overseers  in  cruelty :  she  needed  prac- 
tice. She  was  but  a  novice  in  tormenting  a 
slave,  and  her  scolding  tongue  had  less  and 
less  effect  on  Lottie,  as  she  became  more  ac- 
customed to  it. 

The  fcAV  words  the  soldier  had  dropped  in 
her  hearing  about  her  right  to  be  free  were 
much  in  her  mind. 

"  Course  I'se  a  ris^ht  to  be  free,"  thouo:ht 
she,  "an'  I  shall  start  off  for  Piny  Wood  as 


THE   BASKET  ON  THE   DOOR-STEP.        235 


soon  as  I  can."  Still  week  after  week  passed 
and  she  did  not  get  courage  to  venture.  Un- 
like the  seclusion  of  her  old  home,  she  now 
lived  where  she  could  realize  that  the  war 
was  going  on,  and  she  feared  to  undertake 
the  journey,  lest  she  should  be  taken  by  the 
soldiers  and  sent  back. 

Companies  of  armed  men  paraded  the 
streets,  m  gray  uniforms  and  badges,  and 
martial  music  could  be  heard  each  day,  arous- 
ing and  inspiriting  the  new  recruits.  Every 
one  capable  of  bearing  arms  was  expected  to 
take  the  field.  This  was  a  requisition  which 
could  be  very  generally  enforced  over  the 
South,  from  the  fact  that  the  great  busmess 
was  agricultural,  and  performed  by  the  slaves. 
Conscription  ruled,  and  every  man  was  forced 
to  go,  willing  or  not.  Some  of  the  more 
wealthy  paid  enormous  sums  for  substitutes ; 
but  such  were  the  expenses  of  living,  and  so 
heavy  the  taxes  imposed  by  the  so-called  Con- 
federate Government,  that  only  here  and  there 
a  rich  man  could  raise  the  money  to  pay  a 


236  THE   POOR   WHITE. 

poorer  one  to  go  iu  his  stead.  Xegroes,  in 
large  numbers,  were  forced  to  do  the  drudg- 
ery of  the  camp,  and  take  the  place  of  the 
soldiers  in  handling  the  spade,  and  throwing 
lip  intrenchments.  These  arrangements  for 
carrying  on  the  Avar  made  much  stir  in  the 
larger  toAvns,  and  everybody  w^as  talking 
about  everything  that  was  done.  Thus,  mci- 
dentally,  the  Piny  Woods  girl  gained  much  in- 
formation of  the  progress  of  events. 

The  Avily  leaders  of  the  conspiracy,  Avho  for 
so  many  years  had  been  stealing  funds  from 
the  United  States  Government,  and  storing 
up  arms,  to  do  the  work  of  traitors,  were 
busy  in  circulating  slanderous  reports  of  the 
Yankees,  thus  leading  astray  the  ignorant, 
unlettered  masses,  and  influencing  then!  to 
join  in  the  rebellion. 

Prissy  scarcel}^  knew  what  to  believe.  Be- 
fore she  became  the  owner  of  a  slave,  in  heart 
she  Avas  a  Unionist ;  but  since  that  memorable 
era,  she  talked  as  strong  secession  as  any  one. 
It  made  all  the  diflc'reuce.     If  she  could  be 


THE   BASKET   ON   THE    DOOR-STEP.        237 


equal  with  the  dominant  race,  success  to  their 
arms  !  If  otherwise,  defeat  to  them  !  She, 
poor  thing !  had  no  religious  principle  to  reg- 
ulate and  guide  her  opinions ;  and  had  had 
little  light  on  the  great  uioral  question  of  the 
right  and  wrong  of  slavery.  Had  she  lived 
in  a  heathen  land,  she  would  have  been  just 
as  al)le  to  arrive  at  true  conclusions,  for  the 
light  that  w^as  in  the  South  might  well  be 
called  darkness.  As  for  Lottie,  she  did  not 
believe  in  slavery ;  and  if  once  she  could  have 
understood  that  this  w^ar  was  really  waged  to 
establish  it  on  enduring  foundations  in  the 
knd,.  she  would  have  prayed  God  to  give  vic- 
tory against  such  a  dreadful  purpose.  Her 
condition  as  a  slave  made  her  somewhat  ac- 
quainted with  others  in  bondage. 

As  she  went  to  and  fro  with  her  basket  of 
clothes,  she  often  met  old  Isaac,  wdio  was  apt 
to  speak  a  w^ord  of  what  was  on  his  mind. 
Since  the  war  had  interrupted  the  trade  in 
staves,  he  had  turned  to  his  former  occupa- 
tion of  fishing,  hiring  his  time  of  his  master. 


238  THE    POOR   WHITE. 

"Tears  like  you  is  a  slave  for  good,"  said 
he  to  Lottie  one  day.  Tlie  poor  girl's  tears 
were  the  ouly  reply.  "But  bless  de  Lord, 
honey,  de  time'll  come,  —  de  y'ar  ob  jubilee. 
Tears  like  it  jist  'pon  us  !  " 

"What  is  that?"  asked  Lottie. 

"Why,  honey,  don't  you  know?  It's  de 
time  when  de  Lord  hear  an'  answer  de  prayers 
ob  de  poor  slave  people, — de  prayers  dat's 
been  risin',  risin',  risin',  all  dese  slier  long 
years.  Some  ob  de  slaves  got  so  tired  wait- 
in',  dey  say  it  neber  will  come  ;  but  I  sees  de 
signs  ob  de  times,  an'  'parently  it's  right  here. 
We'se  gwine  to  be  made  free,  'pend  upon  it ! " 

"Can  I  go  home  then?"  earnestly  asked 
Lottie. 

"  Dat  you  can,  honey ;  dere'll  be  no  more 
strouble  den,  'pend  'pon  it." 

It  was  a  word  in  season  to  Lottie,  who, 
pondering  it  in  her  heart,  looked  more  hope- 
fully on  the  evils  of  her  lot. 

A  large  proportion  of  the  soldiers  encamped" 
in  the  vicinity  of  the  town  were  poor  whites. 


THE   BASKET   ON   THE    DOOR-STEP.        239 


and  although,  in  many  cases,  they  hated  the 
rich  slaveholders,  yet  they  were  influenced 
by  their  opinions.  Some  of  them  thought 
the  Yankees  cowards,  because  they  did  not 
fight  duels,  and  do  other  deeds  of  violence 
and  hate. 

"  We  must  keep  them  are  Yanks  off !  " 
said  a  soldier  to  his  comrade,  as  they  wore 
strolling  down  the  street  one  day. 

"  That  we  must,"  replied  the  other  ;  ''  fur  if 
they  beats  us  they'll  cut  off  all  the  slaves* 
hands,  to  spite  their  masters,*  and  make  us 
do  their  work,  willing  or  not." 

"I'se  hearn  tell,"  continued  the  first  soldier, 
"that  them  are  Yanks,  if  they  whips  us,  is 
gwine  to  butcher  all  the  slaves,  an'  bile  'em 
into  broth,  an'  make  us  eat  it ! " 

"I  shouldn't  wonder,"  answered  his  com- 
panion ;  "  they're  in  fur  doin'  'way  with  slav- 
ery, somehow,  if  they  has  to  do  it  by  killin' 
ofi'  the  niggers  !  " 

•Slanders  like  this  are  commonly  believed  among  the 
poorer  classes. 


240  THE    POOR   WHITE. 


"That's  so,"  said  the  first;  "but  you  can't, 
in  ginerally,  make  a  nigger  believe  it.  When 
you  gits  at  their  real  sentiments,  they  thinks 
the  Yankees  is  their  friends." 

"Yis,"  returned  the  other,  "an'  that's  the 
s trouble.  If  the  Yanks  marches  down  this 
way  they'll  be  awful  likely  to  jine  'em.  Fact 
is,  they  likes  jest  the  folks  their  masters 
hates." 

"  Sakes  alive  !  "  exclaimed  the  first,  "  I 
reckon  when  .the  English  takes  holt  with  us, 
we  shall  collar  the  Yankees  in  no  time. 
We'se  bound  to  have  'em  help  us,  you  know. 
The  Fi^ch'U  give  us  a  helpin'  hand  too." 

"That's  so,"  said  the  other.  "I'se  hearn 
tell  they  hates  the  Yankees  worser'u  we  do." 

Just  then  a  third  soldier  joined  them. 

"  Has  you  heered  the  news  ?  "  said  he. 

"What  is  it?  "  asked  the  two,  fai  a  breath. 

"  Why,  we'se  got  four  hundred  thousand 
men  marchin'  on  Washington  !  " 

"If  it  aint  half  a  million,  I'm  out  in  my 
reck'ning." 


THE   BASKET  ON  THE   DOOR-STEP.        241 

'^  Good  !  good  I  "  shouted  the  other';  **  our 
side'll  beat,  in  course.  We'll  hang  Linkin, 
an'  the  rest  of  them  are  Abolitionists  to  the 
fust  tree.  My  mouth  waters  when  I  thinks 
of  the  spile  that'll  fall  intow  our  hands. 
Sakes  alive !  we  sha'n't  be  poor  whites  no 
longer;  we  shall  be  rich  as  Gresus.  Why, 
hi !  I'se  hearn  say  that  them  are  Yankee 
cities  is  jist  crammed  with  gold ! " 

Soldiers  calling  to  have  Prissy  wash  their 
clothes  often  held  conversations  similar  to 
the  above,  portions  of  which  fell  on  Lottie's 
ears,  as  she  stood  scrubbing  with  might  and 
main. at  the  wash-tub. 

But  she  had  her  own  thoughts  on  what  she 
heard,  and  her  sympathies,  like  those  of  most 
slaves,  were  with  the  hated  Yankees.  Most 
earnestly  did  she  wish  them  success  ;  the  few 
words  of  old  Isaac  influencing  her  far  more 
than  hours  of  secession  talk. 

As  time  passed,  the  yoke  of  servitude 
pressed  more  and   more  heavily.      Oh,  how 

long   the   hours   and   days   seemed !      When 

16 


242  THE   POOR  WHITE. 

would  deliverance  come  ?  Toiling,  wretched 
days  —  wakeful,  weeping  niglils  I 

In  addition  to  Prissy's  exacting  spirit,  there 
were  Countless  provocations  and  insults  frora 
the  sailors  and  soldiers  whom  she  unavoidably 
met.  So  often  were  these  repeated  that  she 
dreaded  to  set  foot  out  of  the  Creole's  cottage  ; 
yet  every  day  brought  its  quota  of  errands 
hither  and  thither. 

One  evening,  just  after  dark,  as  with  her 
heavily  laden  basket  on  her  head  she  was  re- 
turning from  a  vessel  at  the*  wharf,  a  rough- 
bearded  sailor  followed  her,  as  he  had  often 
done  before,  to  her  great  terror.  She  had  al- 
ways escaped  him  by  running  for  dear  life. 
In  this  case,  in  attempting  to  take  her  basket 
from  her  head,  she  dropped  it.  and  stopping 
to  pick  it  up  and  replace  the  clothes,  the 
sailor  soon  came  up  with  her. 

"  So,  you  wench,"  exclaimed  he,  "  I've 
ketched  you  at  last !  "  and  he  grasped  at  her 
shoulder,    which    she    eluded    by   a    sudden 


THE  baski:t  on  the  door-step.      243 


It  was  in  the  lonely  wooded  lane  leading 
to  Prissy 's  house,  the  last  place  Lottie  would 
have  chosen ;  for,  call  as  loudly  as  she  could, 
there  was  no  one  by  to  help  her.  She  was  in 
mortal  terror  of — she  scarcely  knew  what. 
Would  this  dreadful  man  rob  her  of  the 
money  paid  her  for  the  washing,  kill  and 
hide  her  in  the  bushes?  Appalled  by  the 
thought,  she  tried  to  get  away  ;  but  his  strong 
arm  had  seized  her,  and  she  could  not  escape. 

"Oh,  dear !  what  shall  I  do?"  cried  Lottie. 
"  Don't  kill  me  !  don't  kill  me  !  " 

"  Wal,  'pon  honor,  I  wont,"  said  the  sailor, 
"  if  you'll  mind  me,  an'  do  jest  as  I  say.  I 
haint  had  nary  squaw  this  are  long  time  to 
keep  house  fur  me.  If  you'll  go  down  the 
river  with  me  a  piece,  I'll  show  you  an  old 
cabin,  where  you  shall  live  an'  be  my  wife." 

"  Let  me  tote  hum  the  basket  fust,"  replied 
Lottie,  bent  on  escaping. 

"What  do  I  care  for  the  basket,  jade  ?  You 
mean  to  git  off;  do  you!  I'll  kill  you  fur 
good,  if  you  do  !  " 


244  THE    POOR   WHITE. 


"  No,  you  wout !  "  said  a  voice  from  the 
thicket  at  the  right,  and  instantly  the  report 
of  a  gun  was  heard,  the  discharge  just  tak- 
ing off  the  top  of  the  sailor's  tarpaulin.  This 
Budden  turn  of  affairs  set  the  barbarian  en 
route  for  his  vessel,  at  the  top  of  his  speed, 
and  Lottie,  rejoicing  to  be  free  from  his  hard 
gripe,  was  gatherin  gup  the  basket,  when  Will 
Forbes  appeared  at  her  side. 

"Glad  to  seiTe  you  a  turn.  Is  youPrissy's 
slave  yit?"  said  he. 

"  That  I  is  !  "  she  answered  in  a  sad  tone. 

"  So  I  thought.  She  wouldn't  sell  you  for 
money,  —  not  she  !  She  smacks  over  ownin' 
a  slave  !     You'd  like  to  be  free,  in  course?" 

"  That  I  would  !  "  she  quickly  replied. 

"You  shall  have  a  chance  then,  or  my  name 
aint  Will  Forbes  !  I'se  been  night-walkin' 
up  an'  down  the  country,  on  a  leetle  business  ; 
but  I  didn't  forget  Sam  nor  you.  So  I  looked 
up  the  shortest  cut  to  your  hum  in  the  Piny 
Woods,  an'  if  you  wants  tow  go,  PU  jist  show 
you  on  your  way  a  piece." 


THE   BASKET   ON    THE    DOOR-STEP.        245 


"I'll  go  tow  onct !"  exclaimed  Lottie,  joy- 
fully. 

"How  long  will  it  tiike  you  tow  git  ready?" 

"I'se  all  ready  now,  only  jist  let  me  put  the 
basket  on  Prissy's  door-step  !  " 

"  Let  the  plague  of  a  basket  go  !  "  returned 
Forbes  ;  "  it's  what  got  you  intow  trouble  jist 
now.  If  you  hadn't  been  so  careful  about  it, 
that  sailor  wouldn't  ketched  you.  It's  likely 
Prissy'U  see  you  if  you  go  back,  an'  that'll  be 
the  last  of  your  gittin'  free." 

"I  reckon  she  wont,"  said  Lottie;  "an'  I 
sha'n^  feel  right  tow  go,  if  I  don't  leave  the 
clothes  safe  on  the  door-step  ;  them  that  owns 
'em  '11  be  want  in  'em.  I'll  be  back  directly ;  " 
and  crossing  the  stile  and  tripping  down  the 
street,  as  if  a  new  life  had  been  breathed  into 
her,  she  speedily  accomplished  her  errand, 
and  returned  to  the  by-path  where  she  had 
left  her  deliverer. 

"Hi !  you  back  so  soon  !  "  said  he  in  a  low 
tone.  Then,  stealthily  as  an  Indian,  ho 
started  off  on  an  unfrequented  route,  through 


246  THE    POOR    AVHITE. 


fields  and  woods,  Lottie  following  at  a  fleet 
pace.  Scarcely  a  word  was  spoken,  lest  some 
wandering  soldier  or  patrol  might  be  within 
hearinij.  ^Vhen  a  lonsr  distance  from  the 
town,  Forbes  halted,  saying  that  it  was  now 
safe  to  stop  and  rest.  "You  mustn't  git  tired 
out  when  you  fust  start,"  said  he  ;  "you  wont 
la«t  to  git  hum  if  j^ou  do."  He  then  pointed 
to  a  stump,  on  which  Lottie  sat  down,  while 
he  climbed  into  a  tree,  so  near  as  to  be  al- 
most oycrhead. 

Forbes  seemed  busy  with  his  own  thoughts, 
and  said  nothing  for  some  time,  but  finally 
broke  out,  — 

"  It's  this  are  makin'  white  folks  slaves 
what's  opened  my  eyes  !  I  see  thar's  no  eeud 
to  slavery ;  it's  bound  to  be  on  the  increase, 
if  you  let  it  have  its  way ;  an'  that's  what 
makes  me  ever  so  much  obleeged  to  them 
Yankees,  that  they  is  gwine  to  be  the  hin- 
derin'  cause  to  its  puttin'  all  us  poor  whites 
under  the  yoke.  Sakes  alive !  they'd  be 
slavin'   my  wife    an'  children,  fust   I   know.. 


THE    BASKET   ON   THE    DOOR-STEP.        247 


What  if  my  wife  an'  my  darter  was  Prissy's 
slaves  ;  how'cl  I  like  it?  She  mought  as  well 
claim  one  poor  white  as  another?" 

Lottie  thought  so  too ;  but  was  satisfied 
with  the  experience  she  had  had  of  its  ills. 

"But  you  eomed  off  without  any  supper? 
Aint  3'ou  hungry?  I'se  got  some  hard-tack 
for  you  ! " 

"Oh,  no  !  "replied  Lottie,  "I  isn't  hungiy, 
an'  Fse  rested  'nough.     Can't  we  be  gwine?" 

"Directly,"  returned  he  ;  "jist  you  wait  till 
the  moon  is  up  ;  it's  a  leetle  too  dark  tow  find 
the  path  now.  Don't  3^ou  worry ;  I  reckon 
we'se  safe ;  I've  got  my  gun  all  ready,  ye 
see  !  " 

And  somewhat  quieted  by  this  assurance, 
and  overcome  by  weariness,  she  curled  down 
beside  the  stump,  and  ere  she  was  aware,  fell 
asleep.  How  long  she  slept  she  knew  not ; 
but  was  startled  from  her  nap  by  the  sol- 
dier's sliding  from  the  tree,  and  saying  in  a 
low  voice,  — 

"Come,  Lottie,  it's  time  to  go." 


248  THE    POOR   WHITE. 


She  did  not  need  a  second  reminder,  but 
quickly  arose  and  followed  her  leader.  They 
made  good  progress  that  night,  and  a  part  of 
the  next  da}^  keeping  in  an  unfrequented 
path.  Lottie  was  never  ready  to  stop ;  the 
strong  desire  to  get  home  overcoming  her 
sense  of  fatigue.  Will  Forbes  was  obliged  to 
be  quite  decided  in  urging  her  to  rest. 

Nothmg  adverse  occurred  to  interrupt  their 
journey,  and  in  less  than  a  week  the  kind 
Unionist  had  guided  his  charge  within  a  few 
miles  of  her  home,  when,  as  she  knew  the 
way,  he  took  his  leave,  directing  his  course 
toward  the  camps  of  the  Federal  troops. 


XXI. 

The  Rebel  Horseman. 

^j(P'OTTIE'S  mind  was  so  much  engrossed 
Pw  with  the  idea  of  shortly  seeing  her  own 
dear  kindred  that  she  saw  AYill  Forbes  depart 
scarcely  conscious  of  regret,  although  she 
really  felt  very  grateful  for  his  noble  efforts 
for  her  welfore. 

Now  that  she  had  gained  the  sandy  road 
that  led  through  the  forest  of  her  childhood, 
she  was  thrilled  with  joyful  emotions.  De- 
lighted with  everything  before  her,  she  greet- 
ed rotten  logs,  pine  stumps,  and  lofty  trees 
with  a  glad  look.  They  were  old  and  cher- 
ished acquaintances,  and  seemed  to  bid  her 
welcome.  But  there  were  stronger  attractions 
ahead.  How  her  heart  bounded  with  the 
thought  of  being  almost  home  !  The  time 
when  she  set  out  to  find  her  brother  seemed 

249 


250  THE   POOR   WHITE. 


like  a  dream,  and  so  rash  and  presumptuous ! 
But  God  had  helped  her,  and  heard  her 
prayers,  —  she  was  sure  of  that,  —  and  now 
all  her  troubles,  were  over. 

The  leaky,  cramped,  dingy,  tumble-down, 
loggery,  in  which  she  first  saw  the  light,  was 
all  the  world  to  her, — just  as  dear  as  your  com- 
fortable abode  is  to  you,  reader.  She  was 
congratulating  herself  that  she  had  almost  re- 
gained that  snug  retreat,  where  no  evils  would 
ever  overtake  her,  when  suddenly  she  heard  a 
horseman  galloping  behind  her.  Quickly  rein- 
ing his  steed  by  her  side,  he  called  out, — 

"  Where's  you  gwine  ?  " 

**rse  gwine  hum,"  replied  Lottie,  with  great 
simplicity. 

"  Where's  that  ? "  asked  he. 

"  Out  shere  'mong  the  trees." 

"  How's  the  old  man  an'  the  boys  ?  " 

"I'se  gwine  to  see,"  she  answered,  a  little 
disconcerted. 

"  That's  right,"  said  the  stranger ;  "  how  fur 
is  it?" 


THE    REBEL   HORSEMAN.  251 


"It's  right  smart  little  piece,"  was  the  reply. 

"Straight  road?" 

"Yes,"  said  Lottie,  " straight 'most  all  the 
way  —  crooked  some." 

"  Your  father's  well  an'  strong  ;  aint  he  ?  " 

"I  reckon  he  is,"  answered  Lottie,  sur- 
prised at  the  question. 

"How  many  brothers  you  got?" 

"  Right  smart  man}^"  It  now  struck  her 
that  she  had  seen  her  interrogator  before,  and 
there  was  that  about  him  which  led  her  to 
suspect  all  was  not  right.  But  the  glitter  of 
something  shining  under  his  weather-beaten 
coat  attracted  her  attention. 

"  Your  brothers  stout?"  continued  he. 

"I  reckon  so,"  she  replied,  still  wondering 
at  his  interest  in  her  family. 

At  a  curve  in  the  road  they  came  in  sight 
of  the  cabin,  Avhen  the  rider  abruptly  turned 
his  horse,  and  galloped  away.  Lottie  felt 
glad  to  be  so  .easily  rid  of  him,  and  hoped 
never  to  see  his  face  again. 

And  now  her  step  quickened,  keeping  pace 


^52  THE    rOOR   WHITE. 


with  the  beating  of  her  heart.  That  for  which 
she  had  so  longed  and  prayed  was  just  with- 
in her  grasp.  Once  at  home,  she  would  re- 
main there,  and  no  ill  would  ever  again  disturl) 
the  loved  circle.  Then  she  had  so  many  plans 
for  their  happiness.  Glad  was  she  that  her 
father's  cabin  was  so  out  of  the  world  in  the 
lonely  Piny  Wood  ;  it  was  all  the  safer,  all  the 
dearer. 

With  such-like  reflections  tumultuously  fill- 
ing her  brain,  she  trudged  up  to  the  door.  The 
mother  was  the  first  to  espy  her ;  a  pang  shot 
to  the  daughter's  heart  as  she  saw  how  wasted 
and  pale  she  had  become. 

"  Why,  darlin'  Lottie  !  my  precious  daisy  ! 
is  that  you  ?  I  was  'fraid  we  never  should  set 
eyes  on  you  ag'in  !"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Dean,  and 
she  ran  to  clasp  her  long-lost  child  in  her 
arms. 

"  Oh,  mother  !  I'se  so  glad  !  "  cried  Lottie, 
clinging  to  her,  and  sobbing  convulsively. 
The  father  and  the  children  started  up  shout- 
ing and  rejoicing,  when,  all  at  once,  the  form 


THE   REBEL  HORSEMAN.  253 


of  the  horseman  darkened  the  door ;  his  outer 
garment  laid  off  disclosed  the  trappings  of  a 
rebel  officer. 

"  Halloa,  my  man  ! "  said  he,  as  he  stepped 
forward  and  seized  Mr.  Dean  by  the  shoulder. 
"  I'm  arter  you  !  " 

"Me!  me!"  stammered  Dean,  "what's  I 
done?" 

"  I'll  let  you  know  directly.  Come  on,  I'm 
arter  soldiers  for  Jeff  Davis." 

"But  I've  had  'nough  of  that  business!" 
said  Dean. 

"Oh,  ho  I  "  exclaimed  the  stranger,  "you're 
the  scamp  I'se  hearn  tell  on,  that  run  off  an' 
Icf '  his  regiment  almost  afore  he  'listed.  Wal, 
I  s'pose  you  knows  the  consequences;  we 
hangs  sich  chaps  ;  so  march  along,  old  head  ! 
I'm  ready  to  string  you  up  to  the  fust  tree  !  " 
"  Tell  me  that  ag'in,"  said  Dean,  on  whose 
face  astonishment,  terror,  rage  w^ere  alter- 
nately pictured,  "an'  I'll  knock  you  down!" 
and  he  shook  off  the  would-be  dignitary,  and 
threw  himself  into  an  attitude  of  defiance. 


254  THE   POOR   WHITE. 


The  household  were  thunderstruck.  Lot- 
tie stood  aghast  at  the  scene.  What  had  she 
done  ?^  Had  she  led  this  fierce  man  to  destroy 
her  father,  or  to  drag  him  into  the  war? 

The  officer  stepped  to  the  door,  and  instant- 
ly two  soldiers  made  their  appearance. 

"  You'll  find  it's  no  use,"  growled  he  between 
his  teeth,  with  a  savage  oath.  ^'  I  didn't  come 
alone  !  " 

Mr.  Dean,  perceiving  that  he  could  accom- 
plish nothing  by  resistance,  cooled  down,  and 
submitted  to  have  things  take  their  course. 

Mrs.  Dean,  meanwhile,  forgetting  the  joy  of 
finding  her  darling  child,  clung  to  her  husband 
with  the  vain  hope  of  saving  him  from  his 
captors. 

But  no  one  of  all  the  group  was  more  in- 
tensely exercised  than  Sam.  He  had  watch- 
ed the  intruder  from  the  moment  he  entered. 
Ah !  he  had  good  reason  to  watch  him.  He 
was  the  likeness  of  the  kidnapper  AYorkfork, 
who  a  few  months  before  had  so  unceremoni- 
ously made  him  a  slave.     "Who  could  it  be? 


THE   REBEL  HORSEMAN.  255 


For  had  he  not  seen  that  monster  die  by  the 
bullet  of  the  swamp- man?  As  he  stood  with 
folded  arms  mentally  making  these  startling 
queries,  and  weighing  the  pros  and  cons,  the 
eye  of  the  recruiter  fell  on  him. 

''  Halloa,  youngster  !  you  belongs  to  me,  I 
reckon.  Here's  a  chance  for  you.  Plenty  of 
corn-bread,  bacon,  an'  whiskey,  an'  eight  dol- 
lars to  boot." 

Sam  made  no  reply,  but  stood  scrutinizing 
him  with  folded  arms. 

"Come,  youngster,  what  do  you  say  to 
that?" 

"  Thought  you  was  dead  ! "  said  Sam. 

"  Me  !  ha  !  ha  !  not  so  easy  killed.  I  just 
played  possum,  an'  got  off,  you  see  ;  but  that 
are  flesh-wound  bled  awful,  that's  so  !  AY  as  it 
you  that  shot  me  ?  " 

"No '."replied  Sam,  doggedly.  "I  wish  I 
had." 

"  Ha  !  ha  !  "  laughed  the  Confederates,  "  he's 
got  the  grit ;  make  a  fine  soldier ;  we  mustn't 
leave  bim  behind  !  " 


256  THE    POOR   WHITE. 


"  You've  got  good  pluck',  youngster,"  said 
Workfork.  "But  no  more  of  this  to  your 
s'perior  officer  !    It'll  cost  you  dear  if  you  do." 

"Sam,  he  aiut  nothiu'  but  a  boy,"  plead 
the  father  ;    "  he  couldn't  kill  a  coon  !  " 

"  We'll  see,"  said  Workfork  ;  "  anyhow,  he's 
got  tow  sarve.     We  takes  all  over  fifteen  !" 

*'  I  — I " —  stammered  Mr.  Dean,  for  he  was 
more  afflicted  with  the  idea  of  Sam's  fate  than 
of  his  own. 

"Never  mind  the  I's,"  replied  Workfork. 
"He'll  git  shed  of  the  turpentine  business, 
feed  an'  clothe  the  family,  and  build  a  hew 
cabin  afore  the  year  is  out.  Come  on,  both 
on  ye  ;  willing  or  not,  you've  got  tow  go  !  " 

"  Wall,  Sam,"  said  Mr.  Dean,  "  I  reckon  we 
shall  hafter  do  as  they  say." 

"  March  along  !  "  cried  Workfork  ;  "  we'se 
got  a  right  smart  company  jest  down  here  in 
the  woods.  If  you  doos  well,  we'll  let  by- 
gones alone,  and  if  you  tries  to  desert  ag'in, 
we'll  rake  up  everything  ag'in'  you,  an'  you 
wont  be  a  trouble  to  society  an  hour  ai-ter." 


THE  REBEL  HORSEMAN.  257 


"  But  hold  on  I  What  you  got  tow  pay  yer 
taxes  with  to  the  'Federate  Government?" 
asked  he,  turning  the  subject. 

"  We  haint  got  nothin',"  replied  Mr.  Dean ; 
*  *  poor  whites  aint  'spected  tow  have  no 
taxes." 

*<  But  they  is  these  sher  war  times,"  return- 
ed Workfork.  "  We  makes  everything  tell. 
Let's  see  —  wife,  chil'en,  an'  goat;  markit's 
dull  fur  slaves,  I  reckon  we'll  take  the  goat 
along." 

"  No  !  no  ! "  called  out  Tomtit,  with  flashing 
eyes  ;  "  that's  my  goat ;  taint  dad's  nor  Sam's  ! " 
and  he  sprung  forward  to  lead  the  creature 
away. 

"  Get  out,  you  whelp  ! "  shouted  Workfork, 
who,  having  just  mounted  his  horse,  now  stoop- 
ed to  give  Tomtit  a  cut  with  his  riding- whip. 
"  Sniper,  take  the  critter  along,"  he  added,  and 
after  a  brief  struggle  with  the  faithful  animal, 
which  seemed  bent  on  remaining  with  the 
cabin  group,  it  was  bound  and  slung  across 
the  horse  behind  Sniper. 


258  THE   POOR  WHITE. 


It  was  the  last  pound  in  the  camel's  load  of 
grief  which  the  desolate  household  were  called 
on  to  bear,  and  the  little  children  cried  as  if 
their  hearts  would  break  as  their  pet  and  play- 
mate was  torn  from  them. 

"  Lang  with  you  !  march,"  shouted  Captaui 
Workfork  ;  and  the  father  and  son  were  driven 
before  the  cavahy-men  toward  camp. 

Meanwhile,  the  little  Deans  left  behind  —  a 
terrified,  stricken  brood  —  gathered  around 
their  mother  who  had  sunk  down  weeping  in 
a  corner  of  the  cabin. 

Lottie,  John,  and  Tomtit  remained  without, 
watching  the  company  passing  down  the  road 
until  they  could  no  longer  be  seen. 

"  If  I  was  o'ny  big  as  dad,"  exclaimed  Tom- 
tit, "  I'd  kill  that  man  afore  I'd  let  him  take 
off  my  goat." 

"  I  hopes  they'll  let  Pinky  out  to  graze,  an' 
she'll  be  sure  to  run  hum,"  said  Jdhn. 

"  It's  too  bad  to  lose  'em  all  to  onct,"  cried 
Lottie.  "  What  shall  we  do  ?  What  a  dread- 
ful war  this  is  ?  " 


THE   REBEL  HORSEMAN, 


259 


« I  on'y  wish  I  was  a  little  bigger,"  said  Tom- 
tit ;  "  I'd  larii  to  fight,  an'  I'd  whip  them  that 
takes  ofi"  dad  an'  Sam  an'  our  goat." 
"An'  I  too,"  added  John. 
Lottie  now  went  in  to  comfort  her  mother. 
Poor  Mrs.  Dean,  she  felt  it  no  small  relief  that 
her  loved  daughter  could  be  with  her,  but  was 
nevertheless  overborne  with  the  new  sorrow. 
If  she  could  only  know  where  her  husband  and 
son   were   going,  and   sometimes   hear  from 
them,  what  an  alleviation  it  would  be.      As  it 
was,  she  had  in  a  sense  buried  them ;  they 
were  lost  to  her.     The  key  of  knowledge  had 
been  taken  from  her ;  she  could  neither  read 
nor  write.     Of  the  war  and  its  progress  she 
knew   almost   nothing.       The   future   was   a 
dreadful  unknown.    The  last  terrible  calamity 
so  oppressed  her  that  she  could  not  even  pray. 
Lottie  now  proved  herself  a  genuine  helper  ; 
she  fought  bravely  against  sorrow,  arousing 
herself  for  the  sake  of  her  dear  mother. 

«  God  is  so  good  to  let.me  come  now,"  said 
she. 


260  THE   POOR   WHITE. 

]     "  Yes,  child,"  replied  Mrs.  Dean. 

'      "Come,  Lottie,  why  can't  you  tell  us  where 
you  been,  an'  all  about  it?  "  asked  Tomtit. 

The  little  circle  gathered  around  their  sister, 
listening  with  eyes  and  ears  intent,  and  even 
Mrs.  Dean's  attention  was  diverted  from  her 
grief,  as  the  recital  went  on ;  and  as  the  dear 
girl  recounted  God's  care  of  her,  hope  sprang 
up  in  the  mother's  heart,  and  she  thought,  "God 
has  been  so  good  to  Lottie,  I  will  trust  him 
still." 

Meanwhile,  Mr.  Dean  and  Sam  pushed  on 
before  their  captors,  in  no  very  amiable  mood. 
Reaching  a  cart-path  which  ran  at  right  angles 
to  the  main  road,  they  were  ordered  to  take 
it,  and  after  a  short  tramp,  coming  to  a  shanty 
once  used  by  the  turpentine  gatherers,  they 
met  a  squad  of  poor  whites,  conscripts  like 
themselves,  under  military  guard. 

"Halloa,  Gookin !"  shouted  Captain  Work- 
fork,  "  bring  yer  men  intow  line  !  "  This  or- 
der was  promptly  .obeyed,  Gookin  and  men 
leading  off  Mr.  Dean  and  Sam. 


THE   REBEL   HORSEMAN.  261 


Their  appearance  would  very  naturally  have 
called  to  mind  the  old  ditty  :  — 

' '  The  beggars  are  coming  to  town  : 
Some  in  rags,  and  some  in  shags, —  " 

Certain  it  is,  that  the  almshouses  of  more 
than  one  State  in  the  Union  could  extempor- 
ize a  better-dressed  and  more  hopeful-looking 
set  of  men,  at  a  moment's  notice. 

Haggard,  squalid,  pallid,  and  sickly;  clad 
in  linsey-woolsey  or  jean  shirts  and  trousers, 
■ —  the  original  color  of  which  it  was  imjDossi- 
ble  to  determine,  so  disguised  were  they  with 
dirt,  —  they  conveyed  the  impression  of  being 
the  most  hapless  peasants  of  which  any  pov- 
erty-struck, tyranny-ruled  country  could 
boast. 

Slouched  hats  drooped  in  folds  over  their 
weather-beaten  faces,  long  matted  locks  and 
shaggy  beards  conspired  to  make  them  look 
disgusting  and  hideous.  Some  of  them  had  a 
hang-dog  look ;  others  glared  fierce  with  hun- 
ger and  the  desire  of  plunder.  The  promise 
of  plenty  to  eat,  and  a  chance  to  make  spoil, 


^Q2  TIIE    POOR   -SVIIITE. 


were  inducemeuts  enough  to  fire  the  latter 
with  a  zeal  for  secession,  although,  ignorant 
creatures  that  they  were,  they  knew  nothing 
of  the  merits  of  the  cause  for  which  they  had 
enlisted  to  shed  their  blood. 

Our  heroes  soon  arrived  at  their  temporary 
destination,  which  was  a  camp  in  the  neigh- 
borhood. Here  they  were  treated  to  rations 
of  bacon  and  corn-bread,  and  then  inti-oduccd 
to  their  first  lesson  in  military  tactics.  AVhen 
sufficient  accessions  had  been  made  to  their 
number,  the  order  came  for  them  to  remove. 
Where,  no  one  of  the  soldiers  could  tell ;  it 
was  only  known  by  one  or  two  of  the  ofiicers. 
It  was  understood  that  a  very  important  se- 
cret mission  was  on  foot,  and  every  man 
was  expected  to  do  his  duty. 


XXII. 

Roanoke  Island. 
f^REKE  was  no  little  curiosity  among  the 
Vy  troops  designated  for  the  new  expedi- 
tion to  learn  where  they  were  going.  They 
were  hurried  through  the  country  to  Winton, 
on  the  Chowan  Kiver,  where  they  embarked 
on  board  of  rebel  gunboats  which  awaited 
their  arrival.  As  they  glided  down  the 
stream,  into  Albemarle  Sound,  at  the  close 
of  a  calm  winter's  day,  clusters  of  poor  whites 
gathered  on  deck,  still  speculating  about  their 
probable  destination. 

They  were  a  peculiar  set  of  men,  of  all 
shades  and  descriptions  of  character,  from 
the  inefficient,  spiritless,  do-nothing  to  the 
fierce  bandit-looking  customer,  whose  slum- 
bering passions,  roused  by  the  stir  of  the 
times,  prepared  him  for  the  congenial  scenes 

263 


264  TITE    POOR   WHITE. 

of  blood  and  plunder.  There  were  men 
among  them  whose  presence  would  give  one's 
throat  and  pocket  an  uneasy  sensation.  Those 
whose  life  had  been  given  to  yawning  and 
talk  were  the  most  loquacious  now. 

**  I  reckon  we'se  gwine  to  light  the  Yanks, 
up  North,"  said  a  rough-looking  man  to  Mr. 
Dean. 

"  I  reckon  not !  "  was  the  reply. 

"  But  I  knows  we  be  ! "  replied  the  other 
positively.  "  I  heered  the  gin'ral  say  we  war 
gwine  to  throw  up  defences,  an'  keep  them 
are  Yanks  close,  so  they  couldn't  budge  foot ! 
An'  that's  what's  we'se  gwine  to  do  ! " 

"  Sakes  alive  !  "  exclaimed  iSIr.  Dean ;  "  you 
don't  say  ! " 

"Yis,"  returned  his  comrade,  of  late  a  tur- 
pentine gatherer,  pallid  and  sickly,  who  had 
spent  all  his  life  in  the  dim  shade  of  the  pine 
forests,  and  only  had  mental  activity  enough 
to  love  the  marvellous. 

"  What's  so  many  niggers  aboard  for?  '* 
asked  Sam. 


ROANOKE    ISLAND.  265 


"Oh,  they're  gwiue  to  help  dig  trenches  to 
bury  the  Yankees  in  ! "  was  the  answer. 

"  I  makes  sure  we'll  be  rich  arter  this  are 
trip  ! "  said  another,  as  he  puffed  away  at  a 
broken  pipe ;  his  mainstay  for  a  living  had 
formerly  been  loafing,  hunting,  and  stealing. 

But  despite  the  dreams  of  these  rustics,  on 
went  the  gunboats,  south,  south,  more  than 
fifty  miles ;  then  east,  southeast,  through  Al- 
bemarle Sound,  and,  in  the  very  heart  of  the 
strait  that  leads  to  Pamlico  Sound,  put  into 
Ashley's  Harbor,  at  Koanoke  Island,  which  is 
twelve  miles  long  and  three  broad. 

What  were  the  gunboats  to  do  there  ?  To 
answer  this  question  we  must  retrace  our 
course  a  little. 

Forts  Clark  and  Hatteras,  which  commanded 
Hatteras  Inlet,  had  been  taken  by  Commo- 
dore Stringham  and  Gen.  Butler  during  the 
previous  summer, — the  thunder  of  the  bom- 
bardment resounding  even  to  Washington, 
N.  C,  where  Lottie  chanced  then  to  be.  The 
loss  of  these  forts  struck  consternation  to  the 


266  THE   POOR   A\'niTE. 


hearts  of  the  rebels,  although,  from  sheer 
habit,  those  not  immediately  engaged  in  the 
battle  kept  up  a  show  of  bravado  over  the 
cowardly  Yanks,  as  they  termed  their  invad- 
ers. 

But  the  forts  were  effectually  captured,  pre- 
served and  garrisoned  for  the  Union.  The 
position  was  of  great  importance  to  our  coun- 
try's cause.  It  was  again  a  refuge  for  the 
seamen,  in  the  fierce  storms  so  common  on 
this  treacherous  coast.  Hence  it  was  indis- 
pensable to  our  commerce.  Gen.  Butler  thus 
viewed  it  when  he  said,  — 

"By  holding  it,  Hatteras  light  may  again 
send  forth  its  cheering  ray  to  the  storm-beaten 
mariner,  of  which  the  worse  than  Vandalism 
of  the  rebels  deprives  him." 

But  how  were  the  secessionists  to  spare 
Hatteras  Inlet  ?  It  was  the  ver}^  key  to  Al- 
bemarle Sound.  Vessels  drawing  fifteen  feet 
of  water  navigated  its  channel,  and  passing 
•on,  found  a  harbor  wide  and  safe  in  all 
weathers.      Gunboats  of  light  draught  could 


ROANOKE   ISLAND.  267 

start  from  this  point  and  attack  the  whole 
coast  of  North  Carolina  and  Virginia,  from 
Capo  Lookout  to  Norfolk,  and  by  threadhig 
the  hirge  rivers,  sul^due  immense  portions  of 
inland  country,  and  take  command  of  the 
leading  cities  of  the  State. 

How,  then,  could  the  secessionists  recover 
from  their  defeat?  How  compensate  them- 
selves for  their  great  loss  ?  The  more  intelli- 
gent among  them  were  not  long  in  answering 
these  vital  questions,  but  hastened  to  make 
the  most  of  what  remained  to  them.  These 
were  the  defences  on  Eoanoke  Island,  which 
locality  was  about  fifty  miles  north  of  the  In- 
let, and  if  suitably  fortified,  would  still  hold 
the  entrance  to  Albemarle  Sound,  and  pre- 
serve to  the  rebels  full  half  of  the  Carolina 
coast  and  inland  territory. 

The  inexorable  draft  w^as  again  enforced 
with  a  releutlessness  which  only  the  South- 
erner has  experienced. 

As  the  news  of  this  measure  spread  through 
Edenton  and  Chowan  Counties,  which  were 


268  THE  rooK  ^^^IITE. 


lo^^al,  hundreds  of  Union  men  forsook  their 
homes,  and  hurried  by  night,  or  stealthily,  to 
the  Federal  gunboats,  for  employment  and 
protection. 

Many  young  men,  from  good  loyal  families, 
whom  the  draft  overtook,  fled  and  secreted 
themselves  in  the  swamps  with  which  the 
rivers  of  that  re£:ion  are  often  belted  for 
miles,  their  relatives  only,  who  fed  and 
clothed  them,  knowing  where  they  were  hid- 
den. 

And  the  gunboats,  freighted  with  their  mot- 
ley assemblage  of  troops  and  negroes,  had 
something  to  do  on  Roanoke  Island,  which 
was  to  be  defended,  at  all  hazards,  from  the 
incursions  of  the  Northern  troojDS.  Already 
the  fortifications  were  progressing  towards 
completion ;  but  still  much  was  to  be  done. 
The  forts  were  to  be  garrisoned,  more  in- 
trenchments  thrown  up,  and  the  batteries 
manned. 

News  had  reached  the  rebel  authorities  that 
Gen.  Burnside,  with  a  squadron  of  one  hTm- 


ROANOKE   ISLAND.  269 


dred  vessels,  had  safely  passed  Hatteras  Inlet. 
He  must  be  kept  at  bay  if  possible,  and  all 
the  resources  of  rebel  skill  and  consummate 
engineering  must  be  brought  into  exercise  to 
make  the  island  impregnable.  The  strait  on 
each  side  being  only  from  one  to  two  miles 
wide,  the  narrow,  winding  channel  could  be 
easily  guarded  by  batteries  on  the  island. 

As  this  strait  was  the  door  to  Albemarle 
Sound,  the  Confederates  were  specially  anx- 
ious to  keep  it  fast  shut,  that  the  Government 
forces  might  not  pass  th^^ugh.  The  island 
seemed  just  fitted  for  that  purpose.  It  had 
numerous  eminences,  admirably  adapted  to 
give  their  batteries  effective  positions,  so  that 
both  offensive  and  defensive  movements  could 
be  carried  on  to  advantage.  No  better  engi- . 
neers  than  those  employed  in  the  construction 
of  these  works  could  be  found  in  the  countr3^ 
They  had  been  educated  at  West  Point,  in  the 
most  careful  and  thorough  manner,  at  the  ex- 
pense of  the  very  government  which  now  so 
wantonly  they  were  seeking  to  overturn. 


270  THE   POOR   WHITE. 

One  day  the  chief  of  the  engineers  mounted 
his  horse  for  the  purpose  of  reviewing  the  de- 
fences, in  company  with  Col.  Jordan  and  Col. 
Pool, — prominent  secession  officers,  —  w^heu 
Col.  Jordan  remarked,  — 

"Let  us  make  it  a  point  now  to  ascertain 
what  more  can  be  done  to  strengthen  our 
works." 

"Exactly,"  returned  the  chief;  "  but  in  my 
judgment  they  are  nearly  perfect.  Let  us 
pass  around  and  examine  them."  They  then 
turned  their  horses'  heads  to  the  central  fort, 
opposite  Ashley's  Harbor. 

"I  claim  for  this  fort,"  said  the  engineer, 
'*the  best  site  in  the  country.  Do  you  see 
those  impassable  morasses  that  stretch  away 
on  each  side,  down  to  the  water.  On  the 
south  side  the  swamps  and  thickets  are  no  less 
impenetrable.  I  tell  you,  sirs,  nature  has 
been  the  ready  handmaid  of  •  rt  in  the  con- 
struction of  this  strong  fortification.  You  see 
we  can  only  reach  it  by  means  of  this  long, 
narrow  causeway."     The  three  riders  wei*e  at 


ROANOKE   ISLAND.  271 


the  moment  guiding  their  horses  over  the  road 
made  of  logs,  laid  side  by  side  on  the  bog. 
"This  approach,"  continued  he,  "can  be  of  no 
possible  advantage  to  an  enemy,  raked  as  it 
is  by  these  heavy  lield-pieces."  As  he  spoke, 
pointing  with  his  riding-whip  to  the  glisten- 
ing rows  of  cannon  on  either  side.  "  Then 
what  intrenchments  I  What  massive  ram- 
parts !  And  do  you  not  see  those  heavy  guns 
frowning  through  the  embrasures  ?  " 

"This  is  indeed  a  stronghold,"  rejoined  Col. 
Jordan,  reining  in  his  steed,  and  leisurely 
surveying  the  different  points  of  strength. 

"It  is  so,"  replied  the  engineer.  "I  de- 
signed it  to  be  impregnable ;  it  is  the  strong- 
est fortification  on  the  island." 

"  Why  not  put  the  most  effective  works  on 
the  southern  shore  ?  "  asked  Col.  Pool.  "  It 
strikes  me  that  the  enemy  will  be  most  likely 
to  attack  that  locality  first." 

"Why  not?  For  this  reason,"  replied  the 
ensfineer.  "  Nature  did  not  assist  us  so 
much,  and  it  would  cost  ten  times  the  ex- 


272  THE   POOR   WHITE. 


pense,  besides  occupying  months  more  of 
time.  We  could  not  be  sure  that  Burnside 
would  wait  till  we  were  ready  to  receive  him." 

"I  recollect  that  you  gave  these  reasons 
when  we  talked  over  our  plans,"  said  Col. 
Jordan.     "You  judged  wisely." 

"  We  have  meanwhile  posted  thousands  of 
well-armed  men  on  the  southern  shore,  to 
prevent  our  foe  from  effecting  a  landing." 

"That  is  well,"  observed  Col.  Pool. 

"  But  suppose,"  said  the  engineer,  "  that  the 
Yankees  should  land ;  they  can  reap  no  pos- 
sible advantage  from  the  movement.  Our 
central  fort  will  prevent  their  progress  up 
the  island ;  and  do  you  not  see  that,  hemmed 
in  between  our  fortifications  and  the  w^ater, 
w^e  shall  have  them  at  our  mercy?" 

"Of  course,"  returned  Col.  Pool,  "and  no 
Yankee  w^ould  think  of  venturing  into  our 
swamps ;  they'd  find  the  mire  and  water  a  lit- 
tle too  deep  for  them." 

"  That's  so  ! "  chimed  in  Col.  Jordan,  and 
having   dismounted,  they  finished   surveying 


ROANOKE    ISLAND.  273 


the  fortifications,  giving  some  time  to  its  in- 
ternal arrangements. 

The  fort  at  Parks'  Point  underwent  a  simi- 
lar examination.  This  was  a  spacious  struc- 
ture, octagonal  in  shape,  and  covering  five 
acres.  It  was  stronglj  built,  and  armed  with 
ten  guns  and  two  rifled  cannon. 

"  The  centre  of  the  island  is  thoroughly 
fortified,"  said  the  engineer.  "The  cause- 
way is  not  only  defended  b}^  the  central  fort 
and  by  the  guns  at  Parks'  Point,  but  by  this 
eficctive  battery  .to  the  right.  No  mortal 
force  can  carry  these  works." 

"  Of  course  not  I  "  returned  Col.  Jordan. 

"  Shall  we  have  time  to-day  to  review  Thi- 
ers Point,  on  the  northern  shore?"  asked  Col. 
Pool.  "  rd  like  to  see  how  the  slaves  come 
on  throwing  up  the  intreuchments." 

"I  was  up  there  yesterday,"  replied  the 
other  officer ;  "  there  were  five  hundred  slaves 
hard  at  work,  and  the  wall  of  sand  is  already 
more  than  twenty  feet  thick.  That  fortress 
is  fast  getting  to  be  impregnable." 


274  THE    POOR    WHITE. 

'^That  is  well,"  said  the  engineer;  "but  I 
should  admire  to  see  Burnside's  fleet  attempt 
the  passage  of  the  strait  opposite." 

«Ha!  ha!"  laughed  Col.  Jordan,  "there 
will  be  some  fun  when  he  tries  that  game. 
The  channel  is  commanded  by  all  these  cen- 
tral forts,  and  ever  so  many  batteries,  distant 
only  a  half-mile.  We  shall  cripple  and  scat- 
ter his  fleet  without  doubt." 

He  spoke  advisedly,  for,  not  satisfied  with 
these  extensive  preparations  for  the  exjjected 
foe,  the  rebels  had  made  all  haste  to  render 
the  passage  of  the  strait  seemingly  impossi- 
ble, by  filling  in  sharp  timbers,  trunks  of 
trees,  and  sunken  hulls,  forming  a  dangerous 
an^ay  of  snags,  which  would  expose  the  par- 
ties attempting  to  remove  them  to  the  mur- 
derous fire  of  the  forts. 

This  incredible  labor  fell  uj^on  the  negroes 
and  poor  whites,  and  from  early  dawn  till  late 
at  night  they  were  kept  busy  by  their  task- 
masters, among  whom  Workfork  and  Sniper 
figured. 


ROANOKE    ISLAND.  275 


My.  Dean  and  Sam  vrcro  not  exempted 
from  the  toil  required  of  their  elass,  and  ere 
all  was  in  readiness  for  their  enemies,  were, 
as  well  as  most  of  the  laborers,  nearly  worn 
out. 

]Meanwhile  reports  almost  daily  reached  the 
rebel  officers  of  the  certain  meditated  ap- 
proach of  the  naval  armament.  But  when 
they  looked  upon  their  own  foraiidable  de- 
fences, they  were  full  of  courage,  deeming 
themselves  invincible . 

Besides  their  three  forts  and  numerous  bat- 
teries, had  they  not  made  the  strait  inaccessi- 
ble? And  more,  had  they  not  eight  well- 
armed  gunboats  ready  to  aid  the  forts  in 
attacking  the  expected  fleet,  each  of  these 
boats  bearing  two  heavy  guns,  one  of  which 
was  a  32-pounder,  rifled?  The  batteries  on 
the  island  were  manned  with  two  thous.and 
three  hundred  men.  On  the  outer  beach,  at 
Nao^'s  Head,  were  five  thousand.  How,  then, 
could  they  fail  to  disable  their  assail-uits? 

The  delay  of  Burnsidc  they  were  iiicli-ied 


276  THE    POOR  WHITE. 

to  construe  favorably  to  their  own  interests. 
He  had  doubtless  heard  of  their  vast  prepar- 
ations, and  turned  his  attention  to  another 
quarter,  for  it  was  now  two  weeks  since  his 
armament  entered  the  inlet.  What  could  he 
be  doinsr? 

This  question  was  not  alone  asked  by  the 
rebels.  Noi-theniers  themselves  criticised  the 
seemingly  slow  movement.  Few,  however, 
realized  the  toilsome  service  that  made  busy 
the  warrior  patriot's  days  and  sleepless  his 
nights.  It  ^\^ls  no  slight  matter  to  repair  the 
damage  of  the  Hatteras  storm,  which  he  had 
encountered  ere  he  was  sheltered  in  the  inlet. 

At  length,  on  the  morning  of  February  5, 
the  looked-for  signal  was  given,  and  the  fleet 
got  under  way. 

First  came  Com.  Goldsborough  and  his 
well-disciplined  little  navy  ;  then  followed  the 
transports,  —  the  entire  squadron  muking  an 
imposing  show.  The  naval  part  of  the  arma- 
ment Tv^as  led  by  the  flag-ship  "Philadelphia." 
Gen.  Burnside  was  on  board  the  lively  little 


EOAKOKE   ISLAND.  277 

Picket,  which  claDced  over  the  waters,  before 
the  transports.  The  morning  was  bright  and 
sunny  ;  but  as  the  wind  was  of  no  special  ad- 
vantage, the  steamers  towed  the  sail-vessels, 
and  the  fleet  moved  only  about  ^ve  miles  an 
hour. 

It  was  nearly  sunset. 

"  There  they  are  !  "  exclaimed  an  officer,  as 
peering  through  his  glass  incredulously,  he 
saw,  from  the  southern  shore  of  Koanoke 
Island,  the  leading  ships,  while  yet  some  ten 
miles  distant. 

"  The  Yankees  are  coming ! "  passed  like 
lightning  from  mouth  to  mouth.  It  was  per- 
ceived that  the  whole  squadron  of  one  hun- 
dred vessels  were  assemblins^  and  tastino* 
anchor  in  a  semicircle  around  the  flag-ship. 
Not  a  breeze  disturbed  the  tranquil  sound, 
and  as  night  fell,  the  rigging  of  the  vessels 
gleamed  with  brilliant  lanterns.  The  white 
cottages,  too,  on  shore  —  the  comfortable 
quarters  of  the  Confederate  leaders  —  were 
lighted  up,  and  their  occupants  made  haste  to 


278  THE   POOR   WHITE. 


confer  with  each  other,  and  prepare  their 
troops  for  the  approaching  deadly  contest. 

Glad  were  they  that  the  morning  of  Wed- 
nesday the  sixth  dawned,  heavy  with  clouds, 
presaging  another  Hatteras  storm.  The  ene- 
my could  not  be  discerned  through  the  fog 
and  the  drizzling  rain,  and  the  insurgents  felt 
that  they  should  escape  an  engagement  for 
the  day.  They  accordingly  despatched  two 
steamers  down  the  sound  to  make  a  reconnois- 
sance  of  the  national  fleet.  To  their  surprise 
they  found  it  advancing,  and  within  three 
miles  of  the  southern  end  of  the  island.  Cut- 
ting short  their  observations,  they  hastened 
back  with  the  evil  tidings.  The  fog  was 
dense,, and  night  set  in  stormy,  with  wind 
and  rain. 

Another  morning,  the  seventh,  opened,  dim 
with  dark  clouds  and  fog;  nothing  could  be 
seen  at  two  miles  distance.  But  the  wind 
finally  changing  to  the  southwest,  bits  of  blue 
sky  appeared,  and  the  Confederates  distinctly 
heard  a  thunder-peal  of  cheers  from  the  Gov- 


ROANOKE    ISLAND.  279 


ernment  ships,  wliicli  indicated  to  them  that 
they  were  in  motion,  and  would  soon  bear 
down  upon  them.  By  the  aid  of  glasses, 
the  rebel  commanders  in  the  fortifications  saw 
the  fleet  entering  Croaton  Strait,  Avhich  is 
only  one  mile  wide. 

"  Ha  !  ha  !  "  laughed  the  general  command- 
ing, "  we'll  give  them  some  nuts  to  crack !  " 
speaking  to  an  inferior  officer,  and  alluding  to 
the  heavy  batteries  with  which  the  whole  up- 
per half  of  the  island  was  closely  defended. 

On  came  the  ships  through  the  narrow 
channel,  in  an  imposing  procession  eight  miles 
long.  The  foremost  vessels  soon  reached  the 
first  battery  at  Parks'  Point,  midway  of  the 
island.  Mr.  Dean  was  one  of  the  poor  whites 
Avho,  with  other  Carolinians,  was  appointed 
to  man  this  battery.  Well  he  knew  that  just 
opposite,  in  the  sound,  was  the  first  line  of 
piles  and  sunken  vessels,  for  he  had  aided  in 
the  work  of  placing  these  obstructions  in  the 
channel.  He  was  not  a  little  curious  to  see 
Nvhat  the  persevering  Northerners  would  do 
with  them. 


280  THE    POOR   ^VIIITE. 


The  rebel  gunboats  had  stationed  them- 
selves between  this  barricade  and  the  shore, 
and  if  worsted,  could  not  be  pursued  and  cap- 
tured. A  part  of  the  lleet  at  once  assailed 
these  gunboats,  while  others  commenced  a 
heavy  cannonading  npon  the  battery.  The 
gunboats  soon  succumbed  to  the  galling,  ceas- 
less  tiring,  and  moved  off,  at  which  time  the 
concentrated  charge  of  the  fleet  fell  upon  the 
battery. 

The  rebel  troops,  many  of  them  poor 
whites,  and  unused  to  the  din  of  battle,  were 
at  first  too  much  overawed  to  return  the  fire 
with  much  eficct.  For  a  time,  after  the  onset, 
scarcely  a  man  among  them  could  be  found 
sufficiently  courageous  to  stand  by  the  guns, 
as  the  hot  storm  of  shot  and  shell  fell  like 
hail  upon  the  batteries.  Mr.  Dean  honestly 
owned  to  his  fellow-soldiers  that  he  did  not 
see  the  use  of  throAving  away  his  life  in  the 
first  Ijattle,  vrhen  the  odds  were  so  much 
against  them.  The  commander,  chagrined 
and  enraged,  vainly  urged  his  men  to  fight. 


HOAXOKE    ISLAND.  281 


Theii'  consternation  was  too  extreme,  and  for 
hours  only  occasional  responses  were  made 
from  this  battery. 

.  But  while  the  war-ships  are  pouring  in  their 
hurtling  tempest  of  shells  upon  hapless  Parks' 
Point,  let  us  take  a  peep  at  the  southern  end 
of  the  island,  where  the  transports  have  cast 
anchor.  Two  thousand  secessionists  were 
stationed  on  the  shore,  to  prevent  the  landing 
of  the  United  States  troops.  Sam  was  one 
of  this  rebel  detachment;  they  were  armed 
with  rifles,  and  had  charge  of  three  heavy 
guns.  Securely  hidden  in  the  borders  of  the 
forest,  as  a  boat  w^ith  a  reconnoitring  party 
from  the  transports  approached  the  shore,  the 
rebels  tired  upon  them  from  their  covert  be- 
hind the  trees.  This  was  seen  by  the  "Dela- 
ware," a  Federal  gunboat  lying  a  few  hundred 
yards  off.  Quickly  five  or  six  dozen  of  nine- 
inch  shrapnell  shells  came  shrieking  into  the 
woods.  Sam,  to  whom  the  preliminaries  of 
the  conflict  had  been  full  of  interest,  and  the 
battle  a  game  he  wished  to  see  played  out, 


282  THE   POOR  AVHITE. 

did  not  so  much  relish  this  hot  iron  shower, 
and  not  being  in  full  sympathy  with  secession, 
exclaimed,  — 

"  Oh  !  oh  !  I  didn't  reckon  them  are  Yan- 
kees was  so  awful  fierce  I "  so  throwing  down 
his  rifle,  made  haste  to  retreat.  Indeed,  few 
could  withstand  the  fiery  deluge,  and  the  en- 
tire force  of  two  thousand  rebels  scud  like 
frightened  deer,  leaving  their  cannon,  mus- 
kets, and  invaders  to  take  care  of  themselves, 
no  matter  how,  so  long  as  they  did  not  im- 
pede their  flight.  The  Federal  soldiers,  after 
this,  disembarked  as  peacefully  as  if  they  al- 
ready held  the  island. 

At  three  o'clock  the  United  States  flag  was 
raised  at  Ashley's  Harbor,  —  a  point  opposite 
the  centre  of  the  island.  The  firing  continued 
at  the  battery,  —  the  Southerners,  after  all, 
holding  it  with  great  bravery.  The  heavy 
shot  of  the  batteries  and  rebel  gunboats  had 
injured  some  of  the  United  States  ships,  and 
killed  and  wounded  a  few  of  the  seamen. 

With  the  first  light  of  Thursday,  the  eighth, 


ROANOKE    ISLAND. 


283 


the  fleet  opened  on  the  hattery  which  was  still 
in  the  hands  of  the  Confederates.  Some  of 
the  rebel  gunboats,  having  gone  to  Norfolk  for 
reinforcements,  returning  about  nine  o'clock, 
landed  a  large  force  on  the  northern  part  of 
the  island.  The  squadron  could  not  hinder 
this  movement,  not  being  able  to  pass  through 
the  obstructed  channel.  Meanwhile,  keeping 
up  a  fierce  cannonading  and  rain  of  shells 
upon  the  batteries,  Lieut.  Jeflries,  with  eight 
gunboats,  was  selected  to  remove  the  piles 
and  sunken  vessels,  and  clear  the  passage  of 
the  sound.  Instantly  three  rebel  batteries 
fired  upon  them.  But  nothing  daunted,  they 
went  on  with  their  work,  remcrved  the  barri- 
ers, and  one  by  one  the  eight  gunboats  swept 
through  the  opening,  and  safely  anchored 
above,  in  the  sound. 

Many  of  the  two  thousand  men  who  had  so 
hastily  quit  their  station  at  the  lower  end  of 
the  island,,  the  day  before,  after  plunging 
through  marshes  and  thickets,  had  reached  a 
fort  in  the  interior,  —  a  strong  intrenchment. 


284  THE    POOR   WHITE. 


As  for  the  Federal  soldiers  who  had  landed 
that  day,  they  had  passed  but  a  comfortless 
night,  being  obliged  to  bivouac  without  shel- 
ter on  the  bleak  shore,  chilled  with  the  north 
wind  and  drenched  with  the  rain.  But  their 
courage  and  cheerfulness  did  not  forsake 
them.  They  had  effected  a  landing,  with  the 
loss  of  only  four  killed  and  eight  wounded, 
and  as  the  morning  dawned,  taking  a  hasty 
lunch  of  hard  bread,  they  started,  under  Gen. 
Reno,  on  their  tramp  northward,  to  assail  the 
rebels  in  their  central  fortress.  Following 
the  trail  of  the  Confederates,  who  had  thrown 
away  their  guns  in  their  flight  the  day  previ- 
ous, after  hours  of  hard  marching  they  came 
in  sight  of  the  fort.  Gen.  Foster's  brigade 
commenced  the  attack  with  muskets  and  field- 
pieces.  The  rebels  had  become  inspirited,  the 
day  before,  by  the  arrival  of  Capt.  O.  Jen- 
nings Wise  —  son  of  Gov.  Wise,  of  Virginia 
—  with  eight  hundred  men.  A  fiercer  seces- 
sionist did  not  exist.  He  declared  that  ho 
would  fight  the  Union  as  long  as   he  lived. 


CHARGE   ON    THE    REBEL   BATTERIES.     Page  285. 


ROANOKE     ISLAND.  285 


As  the  noble  Col.  Russell,  of  the  Conn.  10th, 
pressed  forward,  cheering  on  his  men,  "  un- 
conscious of  danger,  and  incapable  of  the 
emotion  of  fear,"  Capt.  Wise  was  infuriated 
with  the  savage  ferocity  of  the  wild  beast. 
"  That  boy  shall  die  !  "  growled  he  ;  and  as  the 
gallant  young  colonel  stood  firm  in  the  fight, 
a  bullet  pierced  his  heart,  and  he  dropped 
dead  without  a  word  or  a  groan.  Thus  died 
a  Christian  soldier.  The  ammunition  of  the 
Federal  soldiers  was  gone,  and  they  must 
either  retire  or  charge  the  battery  by  a  des- 
perate assault. 

"Zouaves,  storm  the  battery !"  cried  Gen. 
Foster. 

Instantly  they  swept,  tempest-like,  across 
the  narrow  causeway,  despite  its  line  of  brist- 
ling cannon,  with  their  war-cry,  ^'Zou!  zou  ! 
zou  !  "  —  the  thousand  voices  sounding  loud 
a1)ove  the  din  of  battle.  Such  an  assault,  from 
such  impetuous  yet  well-disciplined  men,  was 
so  unexpected  and  so  terrific,  that  the  rebels, 
paralyzed  with  fear  and  trembling,  made  no 


286  THE    POOR   WTHTE. 


resistance,  but  turned  and  fled,  leaving  their 
besiegers  to  clamber  over  the  ramparts  and 
take  possession  of  the  vacant  fort. 

With  the  fall  of  this  stronghold  came  the 
tide  of  victory  to  the  Xorthern  troops.  Fol- 
lowing up  the  rebels  in  close  pursuit,  they 
forced  them  to  lay  down  their  arms  and  sur- 
render. Col.  Jordan,  with  eight  hundred 
men,  was  thus  overtaken  and  brought  to 
terms. 

Col.  Poole,  of  the  Xorth  Carolina  Volun- 
teers, came  forward  with  a  flag  of  truce,  when 
he  saw  General  Foster  approaching,  and  asked 
him  on  what  terms  he  would  accept  their  sur- 
render. 

"  Unconditionally  !  "  was  the  answer. 

"  How  much  time  can  we  have  for  consider- 
ation ?" 

"  Only  time  to  report  to  your  superior  offi- 
cer." 

Shoi-tly  the  flag  was  brought  back  with  the 
agreement  to  surrender.  Thus  was  yielded 
up  to  the  national  arms  all  the  batteries,  for- 


ROANOKE     ISLAND.  287 


tifications,  and  troops  of  the  island ;  and  be- 
fore night  of  that  eventful  day,  the  stars  and 
stripes  waved  over  all  the  rebel  bastions. 

This  victory  was  of  the  first  importance ;  it 
was  not  simply  reclaiming  the  island  from  the 
sway  of  the  foe,  but  Albemarle  and  Pamlico 
Sounds,  and  the  vast  territory  bordering  on 
the  internal  waters  connected  with  them.  As 
one  has  well  said,  that  was  a  week  of  glorious 
work  for  God  and  humanity. 


XXIII. 

The  Boy  Hero. 

AM,  having  gained  the  central  fort,  after 
his  precipitate  flight  from  the  southern 
shore,  turned  to  surve}^  the  scene  behind  him. 
His  nimble  feet  had  carried  him  quite  in  ad- 
vance of  his  older  and  slower  comrades.  As 
he  looked  back  on  the  advancing:  crowds  of 
his  fellow-rebels,  flying,  like  himself,  from  the 
Yankee  shells,  a  sense  of  mortification  for  his 
cowardice  began  to  rise  within  him.  He  felt 
ashamed  of  the  part  he  had  acted.  His  self- 
respect  was  wounded,  and  by  the  next  day, 
when  the  pursuing  Federals  were  ready  to  at- 
tack the  strono:hold  in  which  he  had  taken 
refuge,  his  young  blood  was  at  war-heat. 
The  reaction  made  a  hero  of  him.  Here  and 
there,  wherever  most  needed,  he  was  at -hand  ; 
now  passing  powder  and  shells  to  the  artiller- 


THE   BOY   HERO.  289 


ists ;  now  seizing  a  gun  and  discharging  it  at 
the  assailants,  he  was  a  marvel  of  activity  and 
daring.  Had  the  fort  been  garrisoned  by 
such  spirits,  the  result  might  have  been  disas- 
trous to  the  foe.  He  fought  without  reflec- 
tion, not  thinkino^  of  or  carino:  about  the  rio^ht 
or  the  wrong  of  the  struggle,  influenced  only 
by  the  excitement  of  the  conflict,  and  acting 
out  the  fight  that  was  in  him. 

Eebel  and  Unionist  alike  looked  with  won- 
der on  the  boy  hero.  It  seemed  a  miracle 
that  he  was  not  killed.  He  appeared  to  have 
a  charmed  life  ;  but  more  than  once,  when  ex- 
posed to  the  unfailing  aim  of  the  Northern 
sharp-shooter,  the  rifle  was  nobly  turned 
aside  from  compassion  for  his  youthfulness 
and  admiration  of  his  bravery.  And  when 
the  ammunition  of  the  Federals  gave  out  and 
the  Zouaves  made  their  magnificent  charge, 
clambering  over  the  battlements,  with  the 
dreaded  cry  "  Zou  !  zou  ! "  one  of  them  ex- 
claimed, as  Sam  stood  fearlessly  firing  upon 
them,  — 


290  THE    POOU   ^\TnTE. 

"Tliat  boy  must  be  captured,  or  he'll  bo 
killed ! ". 

Sam,  scorning  to  yield,  furiously  turned 
upon  his  opponent ;  but  the  weapon  he  brand- 
ished was  dexterously  struck  from  his  hands, 
and  a  pair  of  brawny  arms  closed  upon  him 
with  a  vicelike  grasp. 

"Xow,  my  boy,"  said  the  victor,  "you 
might  as  well  stop  first  as  last.  Shame  on 
the  merciless  traitors  who  drag  such  a  child 
as  you  are  into  this  unholy  war  I  " 

The  calm,  kind  words,  and  the  forbearance 
which  accompanied  them  had  a  strange  effect 
on  Sam ;  they  were  so  unlike  the  volcanic  fe- 
rocity of  the  secessionists.  Rebel  officers  and 
privates  were  filled  with  hatred ;  their  pas- 
sions easily  gained  the  ascendency ;  they 
were  violent  and  revengeful.'  But  here  was 
a  man  —  one  of  the  dreadful  Yankees  even, 
those  human  monsters  about  whom  he  had 
heard  such  horrid  stories,  and  whose  life  he 
had  sought  to  take  —  pitying  him  right  there 
in  the  heat  of  the  fiffht !     What  did  it  mean  ? 


THE  BOY   HERO.  291 

All,  Sam !  freedom  and  slavery  breathe  a 
different  spirit.  One  is  intelligent,  thought- 
ful, humane,  magnanimous ;  the  other  unrea- 
soning, turbulent,  selfish,  murderous. 

One  day,  after  the  surrender  of  the  fort, 
the  Zouave  who  had  captured  Sam,  and  who 
had  taken  a  great  fancy  to  him,  pointed  him 
out  to  Gen.  Foster,  saying,  —  ^ 

"  There's  the  young  rebel  I  told  you  about, 
general !  Brave  as  a  Trojan ;  a  fine  boy  he 
is  too ;  pity  he  was  born  down  in  this  dark 
place,  to  hear  secession  lies." 

"Come  here,  my  lad,"  said  the  officer,  who 
was  struck  with  his  frank  and  thoughtlul  face. 
"  What  is  your  name  ?  " 

"  Sam  Dean  !  "  was  the  cool  reply. 

"Well,  Sam,"  said  his  questioner, ."  did 
you  ever  go  to  school  ?  " 

"What's  that?"  asked  Sam. 

"It's  where  boys  like  you  are  taught  to 
read  and  write,  and  fitted  to  get  a  good  living 
in  the  world  !  " 

"  We  don't  have  no  sich  things  this  way," 


292  THE    POOR   WHITE. 

replied  Sam ;  "  an'  little  good  would  they  do 
us,  I'm  thinkiu',  where  there's  no  business 
but  drivin'  hum  the  goat  an'  gittiu'  turpen- 
tine ! " 

"  But  where  I  came  from  every  boy  and 
girl,  no  matter  how  poor  their  parents  may 
be,  can  iiave  a  good  education ;  and  there's 
work  enough,  and  good  pay,  for  all  who  wish 
it.  Do  you  know,  my  boy,  why  it  is  differ- 
ent here  ?  It  is  because  the  rich  planters  will 
have  their  slaves,  who  arc  made  to  do  the 
work  for  nothing.  Slavery  keeps  down  the 
poor,  and  enriches  the  few  at  the  expense  of 
the  poor  !  " 

"  That's  so  !  "  said  Sam  ;  "  the  niggers  gets 
all  the  work, — they  has  to  do  it,  too,  —  an' 
there's  nobody  rich  but  the  slavery  men  ! " 

"And  yet,"  returned  the  officer,  "you  were 
fighting  the  other  day  to  help  these  slavehold- 
ers keep  down  you  and  your  people  and  the 
poor  blacks  in  just  that  wretched  condition." 

"No,  I  wasn't !"  replied  Sam,  spiritedly  ;  "I 
fit  'cause  I  wanted  to,  an'  couldn't  help  it ! " 


THE    BOY   HERO.  293 


"  Yes,  that  is  true,  I  have  no  doubt,"  re- 
joined the  general,  smiUng;  "but  that  is  not 
what  I  mean.  I  mean  to  say  that  every 
blow  you  struck  for  the  Confederates  helped 
slavery  !  That's  what  the  war  is  about.  Da- 
vis and  his  fellows  were  once  in  office  under 
the  United  States  Government ;  they  took 
oath  to  support  it.  " 

"  Did  !  "  said  Sam.  "  Why  did  they  turn  ?  " 
for?" 

"Because,"  was  the  reply,  "they  Avaitted  to 
make  slavery  continue,  and  grow  stronger  and 
stronger.  They  violated  their  oaths,  and  be- 
came rebels,  setting  up  a  government  for 
themselves,  based  on  human  bondage." 

In  terse,  simple  language,  he  then  sketched 
the  history  of  the  conspiracy.  His  listener 
saw  the  truthfulness  of  his  reasoning.  The 
experience  he  had  had  with  the  kidnapper 
confirming  what  was  said.  The  light  of  con- 
viction broke  in,  full-orbed,  upon  him,  and  he 
exclaimed,  — 

"  That's  so !  an'  nobody  wont  ketch  me 
fightin'  on  the  slavery  side  ag'in !" 


294  THE   POOR   WHITE. 


"But  how  did  3*011  come  in  such  bad  com- 
pany ?  "  asked  the  officer. 

"I  didn't  come  in  it,"  said  Sam  ;  "they  took 
me  by  force,  Avithout  my  leave." 

And  in  his  own  earnest  way  he  then  went 
on  with  the  account  of  his  adventures  with 
Workfork,  in  the  first  case,  and  of  the  subse- 
quent conscription  of  himself  and  father. 

The  general  was  deeply  touched  by  his 
graphic  recital,  and  asked  him  where  his 
father 'was. 

"  That's  what  I've  been  tryin'  to  find  out," 
replied  he.  "I  haven't  seen  him  since  the 
battle.  He  was  stationed  at  Parks'  Point  bat- 
tery, an'  I  fear  he's  killed." 

"I  think  not,"  said  the  officer.  "Tell  me 
how  he  looks,  and  what  he  wore."  And  after 
hearing  Sam's  description,  he  added,  "I  shall 
know  him  if  I  meet  with  him;  he  may,- how- 
ever, have  left  the  island,  for  thousands  of 
rebel  troops  escaped  in  their  gunboats,  and  a 
part  of  our  fleet  are  in  pursuit.  Meanwhile, 
as  you  are  sick  of  secession,  how  would  you 


THE   BOY   HERO.  295 

like  to  take  the  oath  of  allegiance,  and  agrea 

to  stand  by  the  old  flag  !  " 

'^That's  jist  what  I'll  do  !"  warmly  answered 

Sam.     ''There's  some  sense  in  that." 

The  oath  was  then  duly  administered,  after 

which  the  officer  said,  — 

.     "  We  will  lind  something  useful  for  you  to 

do  in  the  United  States  service,  and  you  shall 
have   an   opportunity  to   learn   to    read   and 

w^rite ;  and  if  you  are  faithful  in  your  duties, 

there'll  yet  be  a  chance  for  you  to  rise  and  be 
somebody." 

Sam's  face  grew  radiant,  and  he  looked 
the  thanks  he  could  not  find  words  to  ex- 
press. His  kind  benefactor  then  presented 
him  with  a  Federal  suit ;  and,  clad  from  top 
to  toe  in  his  new  regimentals,  he  was  elevated 
and  inspired  by  the  thought,  which  now  he  be- 
gan to  realize,  that  he  was  on  the  side  of  free- 
dom and  his  country. 

One  morning,  very  early,  Sam  was  de- 
spatched with  a  message  to  an  officer. in  the 
central  fort. 


296  THE  POOR  '^\^^TE. 


Iq  passing  over  the  log  causeway  which 
led  to  the  entrance,  he  heard  a  groan, — seem- 
ingly from  behind  the  silent  row  of  cannon  on 
his  right,  — and  turning  to  see  who  it  might 
be,  in  the  dim  twiliirht  he  cau2:ht  si^rht  of 
some  one  skulking  along  by  the  wall,  as  if 
afraid  of  beins;  seen.  Thinkinsr  it  was  a  rebel 
prisoner  escaping,  Sam  appeared  not  to  see 
him,  but  changed  his  position,  so  as  to  get  a 
better  view.  The  fugitive  stealthily  crept  on 
till  he  came  to  a  huge  pile  of  rubbish  which 
had  been  thrown  yp  by  the  soldiers  ;  dropping 
to  his  hands  and  knees,  he  crawled  behind  it, 
and,  snake-fashion,  wriggled  himself  as  far 
under  the  edge  of  the  heap  as  he  could,  and 
kept  quite  still. 

Sam's  quick  eye  detected  in  the  retreating 
form,  the  figure  and  movements  of  his  old 
enemy,  Workfork.  He  was  sure  that,  clad 
in  his  new  suit,  the  latter  did  not  recognize 
him,  and  while  he  sternly  resolved  that  the 
kidnapper  should  not  slip  awa}^  to  do  more 
evil,  he  felt  a  strong  disposition  to  have  a  lit- 


THE   BOY   HERO.  297 


tie  fun  out  of  the  adventure.  Passing  on,  as 
if  ignorant  of  Workfork's  proximitjs  till  op- 
posite liis  place  of  concealment,  he  suddenly 
sprang  against  the  rubbish  heap  with  such 
force  as  to  cause  it  to  fall  over,  pinning  the 
rebel  captain  effectually  to  the  ground. 

"Oh!  oh  !"  wheezed  Workfork,  for,  lying 
face  downward,  the  crushing  weight  on  his 
back  made  his  utterance  thick. 

"AYho's  there?"  called  out  Sara,  in  pom- 
pous tones,  borrow^ed  for  the  occasion. 

"  Friend  !  "  was  the  reply.  "  Who's  you  — 
ReborFed?" 

"Civil  question  to  me  !"  said  Sam.  "Which 
are  you,  dirt-face  ?  " 

"I  aint  much  'count,  no  w^ay,"  returned 
Workfork,  in  a  subservient  tone,  thinking  he 
was  talking  with  a  military  official.  "I'll  be 
ary  one,  jist  as  you  please,  Mr.  Officer,  if 
you'll  on'y  git  this  are  big  load  off  my  back." 

"  Couldn't  do't ;  can't  'ford  to  turn  poor 
white  or  nig,  an'  wait  on  you  !  "  returned 
Sam. 


298  THE    POOH    AVTIITE. 


"  What  you  gwine  to  do  with  me  ?  "  whined 
the  captive. 

"If  you're  a  Union  man,  send  my  boys  to 
help  you  out;  if  you're  scccsh,  let  you  rot,  as 
you  deserve.  All  you's  good  for,  in  that 
case,  is  to  be  'sessed  as  real  estate  ;  you're 
dirty  as  the  very  sile  itself!  AVe  Feds  don't 
hold  to  personal  property." 

"Bless  your  soul  an'  body,  Mr.  Officer," 
said  he  under  the  heap,  "I'm  jist  the  strong- 
est Union  man  !  'pon  honor,  I  is,  actuali.  I 
aint  lyin'  a  dust  nur  a  mite  when  I  sez  it. 
Git  me  out,  an'  I'll  sarve  you  up  hill  an' 
down,  all  my  life  !  " 

"  Will  you  take  the  oath  of  'legiauce  ? " 
asked  Sam. 

"Sartinli!''  Avas  the  reply.  "I  alus  be- 
lieved in  it.  Them  are  United  States  Gov- 
ernment is  a  great  consarn.  I  vote  fur  the 
Union  an'  the  Constitution  !  " 

"  Well,  I  reckon  I'll  go  about  my  own  af- 
fairs. Business  is  pressin',  an',  as  you  say, 
you  aint  of  much  'count !" 


THE   BOY   HERO.  299 

"Oh,  don't,  don't  leave  me,  Mr.  Officer; 
wait  a  minute  !  You  jist  stoop  down  here,  an' 
let  mc  give  you  my  gold  watch,  if  you'll  on'y 
let  me  go.  Here  'tis.  I  can  jist  reach  the 
chain  ;  an'  I'll  give  you  heaps  of  money  too  !  " 

"Nonsense  !"  exclaimed  Sam,  forgetting  his 
assumed  character ;  "  where'd  you  git  your 
gold  watch  an'  money?" 

"Bought  the  watch  with  my  money,  in 
course,"  replied  Workfork.  "  But  sakes  alive  ! 
don't  I  know  your  voice?  If  you  aint  Sam 
Dean,  then  I'm  out  in  my  reck'nin'." 

"  Ha  !  ha  !  "  laughed  Sam  ;  "  but  how  did 
you  crawl  under  that  big  heap?" 

"  Don't  laugh  at  a  fellar  !  "  groaned  Work- 
fork  ;  "  but  I'se  that  glad  it's  you.  I  alus  was 
a  friend  of  your'n,  an'  you  alus  was  a  good 
boy,  Sam ;  an'  if  you  is  an  officer  now,  you'll 
do  this  little  turn  fur  me,  I  know.  I  sets  a 
heap  of  store  by  you,  Sam;  I  does,  actuali. 
Kever  was  so  glad  tow  see  a  fellar  in  my  life  I 
I  alus  was  a  good  friend  tow  you,  you  know, 
Sam.    I  gin  you  a  ride  when  you  was  so  tired 


300  THE    rOOR   WHITE. 


leadin'  the  goat ;  an'  don't  you  remember  how 
I  ghi  you  lots  of  candy  an'  oranges.  It  was 
me  that  made  you  intow  a  man  an'  a  soldier. 
One  good  turn  desarves  another ;  can't  you 
help  me  a  leetle  now?" 

Sam  took  a  somewhat  different  view  of 
Workfork's  services  ;  but  choking  his  indig- 
nation, asked  how  he  came  there. 

"  Jist  help  me  out,  can't  you?  I  was  hidin' 
here,  as  peaceable  as  could  be,  fur  want  of  a 
better  place,  when  what  does  some  un  do  but 
kiver  me  up  in  this  are  rubbish  !  I  can't  stir 
hand  nor  foot !  " 

"What  you  gwiue  to  do,  if  I  help  you 
out?"  asked  Sam. 

"  That's  'cordin  to  circumstances.  If  the 
secesh  beats  the  Yanks.  I  shall  have  'nouorh  to 
occu2Dy  me  in  my  old  line,  buyin'  an'  sellin' 
slaves ;  but  if  the  Yanks  beats,  I  shall  find 
suthin'  or  other  to  do ;  the  secesh'll  pa}^  me 
well  for  worryiu'  'em,  I  reckons.  I'll  tell  you 
what,  Sam,  jist  git  me  loose,  an'  you  an'  I'll 
take  a  boat  an'  row  up  to  the  Great  Swamp. 


THE    BOY   HERO.  301 

I  knows  of  good  places  there  to  hide,  an'  git 
a  livin'  in.  There's  lots  of  boats  gwine  up 
an'  down  the  canal,  filled  with  all  sorts  of 
good  things  to  eat,  an'  if  we  gits  hungry,  we 
can  show  fight,  an'  make  the  traders  give  us  a 
sheer." 

"But,"  said  Sam,  "I've  got  an  errand  to 
do,  an'  I  couldn't  unload  that  truck  in  an 
hour  alone ;  I  must  git  somebody  to  help ; " 
and  he  passed  on  into  the  fort. 

Delivering  his  message,  he  hastened  to 
Gen.  Foster,  to  ask  what  he  should  do  with 
the  rebel  behind  the  cannon.  On  inquiry, 
the  general  found  that  the  wretch  secreted 
there  was  the  very  one  who  had  attempted  a 
high-handed  crime  the  night  previous.  He 
was,  it  seems,  skulking  in  a  corner  of  the 
fort,  and  after  the  men  had  retired  for  the 
night,  picked  a  soldier's  pockets,  and  the 
noise  awoke  the  sleeper,  when  he  started 
up  and  gave  chase,  aided  by  the  now  vigilant 
guard ;  but  despite  their  efibrts,  the  active 
scoundrel  got  away  from  them,  and  clamber- 


302  THE    POOR   WHITE. 


ing  the  ramparts,  threw  himself  upon  the 
causeway  below.  He  Avas  somewhat  injured 
by  the  fall,  but  managed  to  elude  his  pursu- 
ers. 

"Young  man,"  said  the  general,  "you  have- 
done  well  to  inform  me  of  the  whereabouts  of 
this  bandit.  We  will  take  care  of  him."  Then, 
with  a  peculiar  smile,  he  added,  "I  wish  to 
send  you  on  an  errand  to  the  hospital ; ".  and 
handing  him  a  folded  paper,  with  instructions 
to  give  it  to  the  officer  in  charge,  he  continued, 
"If  you  would  like  to  look  around  among  the 
poor  fellows  there,  you  can  do  so  ;  take  your 
time." 

Sam  thanked  his  kind  friend  and  took 
leave. 

As  he  passed  on,  as  often  before,  at  inter- 
vals, he  was  saddened  by  the  anxious  thought, 
"Where  can  my  father  be?"  He  knew  that 
many  of  the  rebel  troops  had  escaped  from 
the  island.  Was  his  father  among  them,  or 
—  dreadful  thought !  —  was  he  killed  ?  Op- 
pressed with  misgivaigs  respecting  his  fate, 


THE  BOY  HERO.  303 


he  entered  the  hospital  and  reported  himself 
to  the  superior  officer. 

Sam  had  much  to  engage  his  attention,  as 
he  loitered  among  the  victims  of  war.  Ob- 
serving and  thoughtful,  he  could  not  avoid 
studying  character ;  and  what  a  variety  was 
spread  out  before  him  ! 

As  he  voluntarily  ministered  to  this  one 
and  that,  before  he  had  gone  half  the  rounds 
of  the  ward,  he  had  taken  in,  with  wonderful 
accuracy,  the  peculiarities  of  each. 

'*  All  this  suffering  and  death  comes  of  slav- 
ery ! "  said  Sam  to  himself.  "  An'  a  cruel 
thing  it  is,  after  grinding  down  the  slaves,  to 
pull  ruin  on  everybody's  heads  too ! "  The 
reflection  intensified  his  patriotism. 

One  impetuous  young  Southerner  he  saw, 
lying  ghastly  and  groaning  on  his  cot,  man- 
gled with  three  bullets  in  his  jaws  and  cheeks, 
his  wounds  shocking  to  bchokl,  but  not  fatal. 
He  had  declared,  at  the  commencement  of  the 
battle,  that  he  had  set  his  stent  to  kill  eight 
Yankees.     Yet  scarcely  had  he  begun  his  sav- 


304  THE  POOR  ^^^^ITE. 


age  work  ere  he  was  himself  laid  low.  Sam 
beheld  in  him  a  specimen  of  a  class  of  fiery 
spirits,  whom  secession  had  perverted  to  its 
traitorous  aims. 

But  how  diflferent  the  young  man  stretched 
beside  him,  struggling  with  death, — a  profes- 
sor of  religion,  —  amiable,  humble,  and  con- 
trite; of  wealthy  connections,  he  went  down 
the  dim  valley  praying  for  rather  than  curs- 
inof  those  whom  he  had  been  tauijht  to  re£:ard 
as  his  enemies.  Almost  every  phase  of  char- 
acter was  represented  by  the  inmates  of  the 
long  lines  of  cots  which  stretched  through  the 
different  wards  of  the  hospital. 

There  was  the  cultivated,  genial  man,  who 
had  been  borne  into  the  quagmire  of  secession 
by  the  force  of  public  opinion,  side  by  side 
with  the  coarse,  ignorant,  brutal  being  whose 
every  breath  was  freighted  with  profanity. 

Sam  overheard  one  of  the  wounded  —  an 
intelligent,  agreeeable  Southerner  —  remark 
thus  to  a  clergyman,  — 

"Our  army,"  said  he,  "lacks  that  element 


THE   BOY   HERO.  305 


of  unity  and  efficiency  which  I  observe  among 
your  Northern  troops.  Our  men  are  com- 
plaining, proud,  restive  under  restraint. 
They  have  never  been  accustomed  to  brook 
control.  They  are  willing  to  govern,  but 
not  to  be  governed." 

But  who  is  the  poor  white  at  the  left,  lis- 
tening so  eagerly  to  his  frank  and  generous 
admissions  ? 

Why,  that  is  Mr.  Dean  !  Do  you  not  see 
that  his  arm  hangs  helpless  by  his  side  ?  Not- 
withstanding his  first  panic,  the  courageous 
soul  that  was  latent  within  him  slowly  took 
fire  as  the  battle  went  on,  and  he  stood  his 
ground  manfully.  Not  having  enlisted  from 
choice,  he  had  no  special  heart  to  fight  in 
such  a  cause  ;  but  there  was  that  in  his  nature 
that  scorned  to  act  the  coward's  part,  and  as 
he  was  paid  for  standing  at  the  guns,  he  kept 
his  place,  and  fired  away  at  the  national  fleet, 
until  a  shell  exploded  near  him,  mutilating 
his  arm. 

Sam  had  oiven  fixed  attention  to  the  com- 


306  THE    POOR   ^VHITE. 


parison  of  the  Xorthern  and  Southern  soldiers. 
As  the  speaker  finished,  and  the  soldier-boy 
turned  to  go  to  another  couch,  he  took  a  step 
—  paused  —  rubbed  his  eyes,  as  if  to  be  sure 
that  he  was  awake ;  for  there  was  his  father, 
lying  on  a  cot,  only  a  few  feet  distant. 

"Why,  father  !  "  exclaimed  he,  "is  it  you?" 

"  Sammy  !  Sammy  !  "  cried  Mr.  Dean,  the 
tears  starting  in  his  joy.  "I'se  so  glad  you  is 
come  !     I  was  that  afeard  you  was  killed  !  " 

"Pm  right  glad  to  be  here,  too,"  rejoined 
the  son,  "  but  you've  a  dreadful  arm  there  !  " 

"Not  very,"  replied  Mr.  Dean ;  "but  las' 
night,  jist  at  dark,  it  was  painiu'  me  putty 
bad,  an'  I  was  a  wishin'  your  mother  was  here 
to  dress  it  with  some  of  her  nice  salve,  —  she's 
a  master  hand  for  makin'  salve,  you  know," — 
and  the  tears  began  to  flow.  "  Wall,  who  do 
you  think  come  jist  then  ?  But  there  she  is, 
now.  I'll  let  her  speak  for  herself  like  ! " 
and  Sam,  looking  in  the  direction  indicated 
by  his  eye,  saw  a  young  woman,  neatly 
dressed,  coming  toward  tiiem. 


Fine    BOY    IIKRO.  307 

"Sam!  Sam!"  cried  she,  throwing  her 
arms  al)out  his  neck,  ''don't  you  know  me?" 

"  Lottie  !  "  exclaimed  the  brother,  in  amaze- 
ment, as  he  returned  the  greeting,  "how 
came  you  here  ?  " 

Mr.  Dean  could  not  contain  himself,  but 
wept  aloud. 

"Don't,  father!"  pleaded  Lottie,  bending 
over  him,  and  gently  smoothing  his  brow 
with  her  hand;  "you  can't  bear  to  be  made 
happy,  you  are  so  w^orn  out  with  pain  and  ex- 
citement." 

"One  thing's  cl'ar,"  said  Sam,  "we've  fell 
into  good  hands.  These  are  Federals  is  bet- 
ter than  old  friends.  They  ftiirly  kills  out 
the  hate  of  the  secesh  with  their  kindness." 

"I  knows  that,  Sam,"  replied  Mr.  Dean,  — 
"I  knows  it,  an'  I  reckon  your  mother  she'd 
say  the  Lord  he'd  interiared  for  us.  We 
mought  be  a  deal  worser  off.  On'y  to  think, 
the  gineral  saunt  off  to  Piny  Wood,  on  pur- 
pose fur  yer  mother  to  come  an'  'tend  upon 
me.     How  he  know'd  where  we  lived,  I  can't 


308  THE    POOR   AVIHTE. 


tell;  but  yer  mother  she  saiint  Lottie,  'cause 
she  couldn't  leave  the  children  alone,  you  see. 
That's  why  Lottie  is  here." 

The  surgeon,  coming  up  at  this  instaut, 
added, — 

"  And  a  fine  nurse  she  is  too ;  worth  her 
weight  in  gold  to  her  father." 

Then  administering  an  opiate  to  the  wound- 
ed man,  if  possible  to  give  him  the  refresh- 
ment of  sleep,  which  for  several  days  and 
nights  he  had  been  denied  by  his  sufferings, 
the  physician  passed  on,  and  his  patient  soon 
fell  into  a  quiet  slumber. 

After  a  few  moments'  earnest,  low-voiced 
chatting,  Sam  took  leave  of  his  sister,  saying, 
proudly,  — 

"I  am  a  Union  soldier,  Lottie,  an'  mean  to 
do  my  duty,  so  I  must  be  gwine  !  " 


XXIV. 

Day-Dawn. 

^|T  was  nearly  sundown  of  a  clear,  wintry 
nl/j  day,  some  little  time  after  the  victory  of 
Koanoke  Island.  Chainy  was  getting  supper 
in  the  cabin  of  her  son  Trolo.  Plal  watched 
her  with  interest  ever  fresh  and  new ;  she 
was  father,  mother,  and  all  to  him. 

"  Aint  supper  'most  ready  ? "  asked  Hal, 
with  childlike  eagerness. 

"  Dat  'tis,  honey,"  was  the  pleasant  rejoin- 
der ;  "  'pears  like  desc  yer  ven'son  steaks  is 
'mos'  done ;  an'  Trolo  he'll  be  here  right 
smart  soon." 

"  Dere  he  is  ! "  called  out  Hal,  peeping  out 
of  the  door. 

The  maroon  entered,  laden  with  partridges 
and  rabbits. 

309 


310  THE    POOR   WHITE. 


*'  Somethiu'  for  you,  mother !  "  was  his 
cheerful  greeting,  as  he  hung  them  up. 

"  'Pears  like  you  is  bound  to  have  plenty  to 
eat !  "  returned  Chainy. 

"  Dat  I  is  ! "  said  the  hunter,  "  when  the 
woods  an'  swamp  is  full  of  good  things." 

But  the  potatoes  were  well  roasted,  the 
ash  pone  baked,  and  the  steak  cooked,  and 
the  comfortable  repast  smoked  on  the  board, 
when,  just  as  they  were  sitting  up  to  the  rude 
table  to  eat,  the  door  opened,  and  the  medi- 
cine man,  or  patriarch,  of  the  opposite  ridge 
entered,  bearing  a  heavy  roll  of  canvas. 

"Welcome  ;  you  is  jest  in  time.  Sit  down 
an'  have  some  supper,"  said  Trolo. 

"Thank  you ;  it  smells  good.  I  is  dat  hun- 
gry. But  I  must  tell  you  the  news  fust. 
Dish  sher  swamp  aiut  ours  no  longer ;  de  se- 
cesh  is  pourin'  in  thick  as  toads  arter  a 
shower ;  it's  all  alive  wid  'em,  ever  since  de 
battle  of  Roanoke  !  " 

"I  knows  it,"  replied  the  maroon;  "I  seed 
some   on   'em   to-day,  when   I   was   huntin'. 


DAY-DA  WX.  311 


I  reckon  de  Yankees  got  a  great  victory, 
an'  driv'  'em  off  the  island." 

"That's -so  !  "  returned  the  patriarch,  "they 
corned  up  de  canal  in  deir  gunboats,  thou- 
sands of  'em." 

"What's  we  to  do?"  asked  Trolo. 

"Dat  am  de  question  I'se  been  studyin* 
'pon,"  said  the  other.  "  'Pears  like  if  we'se 
driv'  out  of  dish  sher  swamp,  dere's  room  fur 
us  outside.  Dey's  gittin'  up  a  colored  regi- 
ment down  to  Xorfolk  !  " 

"  Is  ?  "  asked  the  maroon  ;  "  that's  s'prizin'. 
If  that's  so,  I'll  jine  to  onct." 

"  Glory  hallelujah  !  "  responded  the  visitor, 
"dis  is  de  y'ar  ob  jubilee  ;  an'  you  is  jest  the 
man  to  do  the  recruitin'.  You  must  go  to 
work  to  onct,  an'  call  the  black  men  to  war  !  " 

"Dish  is  de  Lord's  doiu's,  'pend  upon  it !  " 
observed  Chainy,  earnestly;  "de  Lord  he's 
made  a  place  for  de  poor  slave,  an'  gin  him  a 
chance  to  be  free.  Bress  de  Lord !  dish  is 
his  war !  " 

"Eat,  eat,"  said  Trolo  to  his  guest;  "the 


312  THE    POOR   WHITE. 


supper  is  gittiu'  cold.  'Pears  like  dish  isn't 
the  day  of  fastin',  though  I  is  too  happy  to 
eat ;  but  j^ou  has  been  trarapin'  through  the 
swamp,  an'  ought  to  be  hungiy." 

"That  I  is!"  answered  the  old  man,  "an' 
3'our  supper  is  uncommon  good.  But  I  only 
wish  I  war  youns:  asf'in' :  I'd  fis^ht  in  de  Lord's 
war." 

"  Old  men  give  good  counsel,"  replied 
Trolo,  "an'  there's  plenty  of  youngsters  to 
go  an'  fight.  The3'*ll  flock  together  rapid, 
when  they  finds  out  that  they  can." 

"I'se  been  studyin'  'pon  these  things,"  add- 
ed the  old  patriarch ;  "  studyin'  an'  studyin' 
all  last  night,  an'  lots  o'  nights  afore  that ; 
couldn't  sleep,  I  study  that  much.  An'  'pears 
like  I  can  do  somethin'  to  help  de  right,  if  I 
is  old  an'  a'most  worn  out.  You  see,  when 
you  recruits  3'our  comp'ny,  Trolo,"  —  and  he 
laid  his  hand  impressively  upon  the  shoulder 
of  his  host,  —  "you'll  want  a  banner,  an'  I've 
been  thinkin'  nobody  but  me,  in  this  are 
swamp,  is  cap'ble  of  makin'  one.     You  see, 


DAY-DAWX.  313 


I'se  got  larnin',  an'  can  read  an'  write.  Now 
I  wants  to  know  what  I  shall  paint  on  your 
flag.  AVhen  you  goes  out  to  do  conflict,  what 
you  want  your  l)anner  to  say  for  you?" 

Trolo  thought  a  moment,  and  then,  knitting 
his  brows,  said,  — 

"  Victory  or  death  !  " 

"It's  good,  as  fur  as  it  goes,"  replied  the 
venerable  man  ;  then,  shaking  his  head,  "but 
that's  not  enough.  Better  die  than  be  slaves 
ag'in  ;  but  de  good  book  say,  De  battle  is  not 
to  de  strong,  nor  do  race  to  de  swift.  It  isn't 
all  de  fightin',  Trolo,  that'll  bring  de  victory, 
unless  de  Lord  prosper.  I'se  been  studyiu 
'bout  dat,  an'  I  wants  to  'press  it  'pou  de  men 
of  war,  an'  it  'currcd  to  me  to  write,  'God 
give  us  victory  or  death!'  That  tells  what 
w^e  means,  when  .we  goes  forth  with  de  sword 
an'  de  gun;  an'  it's  a  kind  of  prayer  too. 
How'd  you  like  dat?" 

"You  is  right,"  said  Trolo. 

"  Den  I'll  paint  it  on  de  flag,"  said  the  pa- 
triarch, earnestly.      "Good  plan  to  have   a 


314  THE    POOR   A\'HITE. 


flag,  Trolo,"  added  he,  turning  around  to  look 
for  his  package,  when  Rafe,  seeing  his  pur- 
pose, quickly  brought  it  to  him.  "De  good 
book  says,  too,"  continued  the  old  man, 
"when  de  enemy  come  in  like  a  flood,  de 
Spirit  of  de  Lord  lift  up  a  standard  against 
him,  —  dat  is  a  banner,  you  see.  This  shall 
be  de  Lord's  standard  against  the  wicked  se- 
cesh,  who  rob  us  of  our  wives  an'  chillern,  an' 
whip,  an'  tear  us  wid  de  bloodhounds,  and 
keep  de  Bible  'way  from  us  !" 

Then  unrolling  the  coarse  cotton  cloth,  the 
patriarch  drew  a  tin  box  from  his  pocket,  con- 
taining a  kind  of  thick  ink  or  paint,  and 
spreading  the  cloth  on  the  table,  which  Chai- 
ny  had  cleared  and  put  by  the  fire,  with  the 
aid  of  a  small  brush  he  began  to  trace  the 
startling  battle-cry  of  the  swamp-men.  The 
heart  of  the  veneral)le  exile  was  in  his  work ; 
he  entered  into  it  with  the  enthusiasm  and  de- 
votion of  a  religious  rite. 

It  was  long  years  since  he  learned  to  write ; 
he  had  practised  little,  and  his  progress  was 


DAY-DAWX.  315 


slow.  But  what  a  picture  was  that  around 
the  cabin  hearth  tire  !  The  tall  form  bending 
over  the  canvas ;  the  expressive  face  of  the 
'dusky  artist,  glowing  with  solemn  fervor, 
from  beneath  its  crown  of  gi'ay ;  the  little 
group  watching  him  w^ith  spell-bound  inter- 
est,— this,  in  the  depths  of  the  Great  Swamp  ! 

With  infinite  pains  he  plodded  away ;  but 
the  hoar  o-rew  late  before  he  had  finished  the 
one  word  that  was  to  lead  the  rest,  —  the  con- 
fiding appeal  of  an  oppressed  people  to  the 
dread  Judge  of  man,  that  their  cause  was  a 
righteous  one,  —  their  heart-cry  for  succor 
against  their  oppressors.  What  a  depth  of 
meaning,  under  such  circumstances,  seemed 
hidden  in  that  rudely  wrought  symbol,  — 
God.  On  those  large,  irregular  characters 
the  fugitive  family  gazed  with  mingled  feel- 
ings of  awe  and  hope. 

One  bright  morning,  shortly  after  the  visit 
of  the  medicine-man  to*  Trolo's  cabin,  four 
colored  horsemen  entered  a  small  negro  vil- 
lage not  far  from  a  foi-t,  some  few  miles  from 


316  THE    rOOR   AVIIITE. 

the  swamp.  One  of  the  cavalry  was  distin- 
guishecl  from  the  rest  by  a  red  sash.  He  also 
bore  a  long  staff  and  a  roll  of  cloth.  Two 
others  followed  at  a  short  distance,  one  hav- 
ing a  patched  tenor,  and  his  fellow  a  bass, 
drum.  When  the  party  of  six  had  reached 
the  centre  of  the  hamlet,  the  imposing  figure 
with  the  crimson  sash  —  who  sat  like  a  prince 
in  his  saddle — gave  the  order,  and  right  read- 
ily was  it  obeyed.  Rum  —  drum  —  thum  — 
drum  — thr-r-r-r-drum  !  sounded  and  resound- 
ed. Xow  up  this  winding  street,  then  down 
that  grassy  lane,  the  recruiters  rode  and 
drummed.  The  negroes  seemed  prepared  for 
the  occasion,  and  coming  out  of  their  cabins, 
with  their  coats  across  their  arms,  fell  into  the 
fast-swelling  ranks  of  recruits,  their  families 
filling  up  the  doorways  and  cheering  them  on. 
Xo  young  soldiers  ever  felt  better  satisfied 
with  their  lot  than  they.  It  was  such  a  privi- 
lege and  honor  to  be  recognized  as  men,  and 
to  be  allowed  to  take  their  place  as  volun- 
teers, that  the  countenances  of  many  of  them 


DAY-DA\VN.  317 


were  convulsed  with  emotion.  It  was  a 
study  to  see  the  different  ways  in  which  deep 
feeling  was  manifested.  Some  looked  tear- 
ful, some  joyful,  others  wore  an  expression  of 
gratilied  pride, — not  unusutd  with  volunteers  ; 
others  still,  w^ere  bewildered  in  a  maze. 

The  red-sashed  horseman,  —  who  was  no 
other  than  Trolo,  —  noAv  that  the  nucleus  of  a 
company  was  formed,  unrolled  the  cloth  and 
raised  the  flag-staff,  revealing  the  patriarch's 
banner,  which  was  quaintly  painted  on  both 
sides  :  — 

''  God  give  us  victory  or  death  !  "  —  the 
words  "  victory  or  death  !  "  being  thickly 
strewn  over  the  canvas,  with  little  regard  to 
order.  The  hamlet  had  only  three  streets, 
and  some  seventy-five  male  adult  inhabitants  ; 
yet,  nevertheless,  at  a  moment's  notice,  sixty 
of  these  turned  out  and  tramped  in  their  well- 
worn  shirt-sleeves  and  trousers,  anxious  to  do 
service  for  the  country  that  gave  them  birth, 
and  w^hich  now,  at  this  late  day,  was  prof- 
fering them  liberty. 


318  THE   POOR   ^miTE. 


The  adjoining  villages  were  then  visited, 
and  in  the  short  space  of  two  hours,  three 
hundred   more  had  joined  the  magic  army. 

Since  that  era,  negro  recruiting  has  been 
no  strange  or  unexpected  matter.  Many 
thousands  have  enlisted,  and  fought  heroically 
in  the  battles  of  our  country,  sealing  their  de- 
votion with  their  blood. 

The  old  patriarch  and  Trolo  have  done  effi- 
cient service  in  drawins:  valiant  men  from 
their  fastnesses  in  the  swamp.  They  came 
most  opportunely,  as  deliverers  in  the  armies 
of  the  nation.  The  gathering  of  the  rebels  in 
the  swamp  was  no  feint.  The}^  planned  an 
ex^Dcdition  of  plunder  on  Xorfolk  and  the  ad- 
joining country,  which  was  effectually  checked 
by  the  sallying  forth  of  the  fearless  maroons. 

Our  characters  are  still  busy,  figuring  in 
passing  events.  We  leave  Chainy  in  care 
of  Rafe,  who,  repressing  his  martial  aspira- 
tions, is  trying  hard  to  make  her  happy  and 
comfortable  in  her  cabin,  just  within  the 
Union  lines.     Their  abode  is  often  the  home 


DAY-DAWN. 


319 


of  a  sick  or  wounded  colored  soldier,  and  the 
old  nurse  is  in  her  element,  in  attending  on 
those  requiring  her  care. 

Mr.  Dean,  having  recovered  from  his 
wound,  took  the  oath  and  enlisted  as  a  Union 
soldier.  Tomtit,  although  so  young,  has,  at 
his  earnest  request,  been  allowed  the  pest  of 
drummer  for  the  same  company. 

Mrs.  Dean  has  had  her  prayers  answered 
in  a  way  she  did  not  expect,  and  is  seeing 
prosperous  days.  As  the  result  of  the  earn- 
ings of  her  husband,  son,  and  Lottie, — the 
latter  is  a  young  Florence  Nightingale  in  the 
hospital,  —  a  neatly  framed  cottage  has  been 
•  put  up,  and,  in  her  pretty  cap  and  gingham 
dress,  the  good  lady  keeps  her  new  domain  in 
the  most  scrupulous  order. 

She  realizes,  too,  her  long-cherished  wish 
that  lier  children  should  be  taught  to  read 
and  write.  A  school  has  been  opened  in  the 
vicinity  by  Northern  teachers,  and  the  little 
Deans  are  making  commendable  progress. 
Occasionally  she  sees  her  husband  and  ab- 


320  THE    POOR   WHITE. 


sent  sons,  —  as  the}^  are  permitted  to  come 
home  on  furlough, — and  Lottie  often  arranges 
to  spend  a  vacation  in  her  now  attractive 
abode,  that  she  may  recruit  her  energies  and 
comfort  her  dear  mother.  Instead  of  the 
mourned-for  goat,  the  family  own  a  good  cow, 
w^hich  they  have  named  Pinky,  in  remem- 
brance of  their  stolen  pet.  A  cleared  space 
of  rich  land,  in  the  vicinity,  has  been  made 
into  a  large  garden,  and,  being  cultivated  by 
the  younger  sons,  aids  in  supplying  them 
with  the  comforts  of  life. 

O  wondrous  dawn !  brighten  on  to  the 
perfect  day ;  even  till  all  the  hunted  poor 
shall  return  with  sinofiuir  fi'om  their  lon^f  exile 
in  cave  and  swamp  and  forest ;  till  the  last 
fetter  shall  fall,  and  the  banner  of  freedom 
shall  float  peacefully  where  once  were  the 
habitations  of  cruelty  and  rebellion. 

Brighten  on,  O  dawn,  till  black  and  white 
poor  rejoice  in  the  blessings  of  civilization, 
and  in  the  possession  of  those  God-givon 
rights  of  which  they  have  so  long  been  de- 
prived ! 


RARE  BOOK 
COLLECTION 


K/ 


THE  LIBRARY  OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY  OF 

NORTH  CAROLINA 

AT 

CHAPEL  HILL 


Wilmer 
865 


